Musing Of A Wanderer

Walking beside the narrow stream
That meanders through the green fields,
All the way  up to the summit of the mountains

I gaze up at the sky
The clouds looks beautiful,
As the last rays of sunshine 
Illuminate their golden crests


It gives the illusion, a feeling
That of mountain above the mountains
It is liberating, exhilarating; amazing


Then as the breeze blows past may face
I feel like, this is my home
Our home. 


I lean forward while walking,
As my hands brush through the blades of grass
That still bears the pearls of raindrops
It was raining in the afternoon


It feels like I am shaking hands with faeries
And all that I can say is,
It tickles but in a gentle way


I can see the night 
Coming from beyond the horizon
And in a rare moment of truce
It now exists along with the day
The sun, and moon gaze at each other
And the stars blink in amusement


The birds, they flock towards their home
If there comes a day
When humanity is truly free
Will we also flock towards our true home
In the directionless void of the cosmos


Home. Is such a relative term