POETRY
Stories of a Gypsy Traveler
Written with Memories
A gypsy traveler walking through the roadside, Wandering on the pathways, looking strangely to the people passing by, It seems like the path pulled him onto the road, to the uncertain void mystery, With the remarks of time, dust over the body, and fatigue in his walk.
And, With a box full of stories, Covered within the ribbons of life. Mixed with the truth, bitterness, falsehood, Covered in colorful rhymes, black & white silence, Not captured in words, but filled with memories.
Screams of birth, Stories of preaching falsehood as real, Tales of love, pain, and alienation, The fables of heartfelt love. Narratives of arrogant men, moments with roadside beauty, Captured clashes, religious fights, ‘division over caste’ tales. New faces, new emotions of people passed by, Tales of shining eyes, broken dreams, shattered hopes. Muds in the path, woods in the walk, the sea at the end of the roads, And the new walkway to freedom. The memoir of villages, the greenery of the woods, the birds’ song, The tides and the riverboats, magnificent storms, the moonlight serenity, Hustling and bustling noise of the brick covered city.
His box full of stories, Not in words but in moments of the past. Bizarre parts of life, covered in raw silences - layered with past bitterness, - present in sadness, - moving to an uncertain future.
The gypsy traveler was roaming around onto the roadside. And then, he came towards me, And whispered, “Will you buy a story, from my box filled with memory?”
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