What is a journey? What is travel?
A dust of time? A measure of distance?
Is it a mere amble of daily routine?
Or the great breakthroughs of explorers!
See the greatest of explorers! Marco Polo
making the Silk Route his familiarity!
How did he bring the Orient of the Far East
across the Orient of Asia Minor into Europe;
impressing the amazed Europeans with alien
cultures?! How many languages did he come to speak!
Is there a Rubicon when we travel; when we cease
to be ourselves with newfound experience?
Isn’t every experience a personal journey into the uncertain unknown?
Do we find our personal journeys in the larger expanse
like the most prolific traveler – Ibn Batuta – did? Or in the
wallowing of the smallness of the mundane?
What actually opens our eyes – a new scenery, a new time,
or a new experience? Is attaining wisdom a journey?
Do we burn bridges when we travel or do we shock
at the foreign culture, resisting it due to the stranglehold
of homegrown beliefs? What is wanderlust? Is it an
urge to dress oneself in a new spirit, each time round?
I do not seek to know the answers! For, I am sufficient
in my travels within the four walls of my home! Though,
I am carried away with the itch to get out into the streets, at times?
Am I a journeyperson, despite my sparse travel? Or should
I call myself the greatest traveler, the inimitable traveler
through time; not even alien to any single moment! I think, the
Universe knows my risibility in my travels of travails! I was
never a perfunctory ghost of duty, destiny can see! Even
if I am straitjacketed and bound up in your palpable
prison of pretentious perestroika; I can still travel! Because one
can still be an immense traveler between words; a tactile
adventure from word to word in the scalable unscalability of lines of poetry!!!
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