TRAVELLORE

Different seasons of the year,

Thoughts come by and hitch across.

Some for as long as a line drawn on water,

While some like a scar on the skin.

As a hippie state of mind,

They wander inside out.

To diffuse smell of all the time

It feels like

Begone bitter a sweet child of mine.

Blank sometimes.

Sometimes with tears of smile.

And all the other times,

Like an urge to make it by,

To live again, either rectify.

 I walk with a suitcase full of them,

And travel between a mind-full generations.

Its a long way to go,

I am here sitting on a bench,

Waiting for my next train.