a litany of ruminations

XXVI : wanderer (lost)

the wandering soul knows no rest...

..

oh, not all those who wander are lost....

(but is it true?)

..

drifting, following the path wherever the wind blows

the falling of autumn leaves, the summer breeze twined with beating haze of heat, spring fragrance of blossoming flowers and crisp crystalline gusts and barren branches,the softly falling snow of winter---

time passes and he drifts like the fallen leaves carried by a flowing river, away

wandering, wandering

he laughs, because he can speak about twenty different tongues yet none of them settle right on his tongue as the one of his home

but his home is lost to him, like he himself, traversing without direction, without navigation through the labyrinth of life

(perhaps his figurative north star has blinked out of sight long ago and he's wondered when he had gone astray)

resonating laughter and an empty smile, he can say hello in twenty five languages, now, but he finds it's the hardest to say goodbye

(it must be universal)

maybe it's why he doesn't stay (linger) very long, holding people at arm's length, keeping his distance with a facade of indifference

(because it hurts too much when he lets go, forming bonds as soon as it was time to break them, and he doesn't have enough in it in him to do it over and over, again and again)

the seasons pass and he doesn't really live, simply remaining in the state of existence, a thousand different experiences in so many places yet they all leave him with an lacuna, an emptiness that he cannot fill, a hollow cavity in his chest where his heart is supposed to be, beat-beat-thump-thumping

he is lost

(but will he ever be found?)

and he needs direction

(there are four cardinal directions: north, south, east, west---)

guidance,

because he needs a guiding star to light his way through the darkness, of the eternal night that has eclipsed his life

(maybe someday he will find his way,

but

he was always rubbish at directions)