Monday, October 5, 2015


A dissipating breeze blows around,
The strings that moved the hands vanish,
A chill of comfort, a pleasant atmosphere,
A world of unknown stares.

A spectator, a witness, never the protagonist,
A searcher, a wanderer, never the settler,
A free bird in the shadows of cold,
A mindless muse flying far abroad.

Searching for the meaning, that ties it all,
Searching for the calling, that's a cause to stay,
Can the vagabond ever be the settler?
Can the true passion ever be found?

If only the magic could fill the insides,
If only the power could yield some tricks,
If only the search could end some day
If only the heart could beat some more.

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