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Migrant

A migrant, I’ve no tales

of herculean tragedy

to my name, you see

not every trip is planned

nor every destination

fixed, it was a chance I

stumbled upon few roads

knowing one day I’ll go

back, I walked hesitatingly  

meeting few along ,aware

that home is a person we

go back to, my golden

abode is calling, my time

here is running out but

I’ve one more path to 

undertake before I call

it a day!

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15 thoughts

    • I know Megha, home is always calling and the yearning intensifies over time. Its strange predicament to be in, but this is how it is :). Thanks for stopping by dear, hope your are doing better now, is ur maid back?

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