Musafir

By Rohan Sahni, Poetry Editor, Paprikashta

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Source Link: https://pixabay.com/static/uploads/photo/2014/09/21/17/56/wanderer-455338_960_720.jpg

I am what they call a wayward soul,
And there is no one land I can call home.
I find peace in unknown tongues,
And so I roam, so I roam.

I feel at ease before foreign winds,
And sands of other places.
And strangely I feel familiar,
Before unfamiliar faces.

A wanderer, a loner,
They think I’ve lost my way.
These rooted trees wouldn’t understand,
There’s no one place I want to stay.

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