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!