Lonely Traveler...

Poem By Viraj Bhanshaly

I see the lonely traveler,
Why is he so quiet?
Maybe he's in passion,
Maybe he's in fear,
Maybe sheer happiness,
Something to control in silence,
Without telling anyone...

To walk through the jungle trees,
Stare, climb and then sing,
A song, one happy, scary, so heartfelt,
I started to cry,
A mixture of feelings,
Something to divine to share,
Only with the invisible shadows,
That travel with him...

But I followed him,
For no real reason at all,
His gentle side as well as fierce side,
All in one,
All in control,
But still he walks alone,
Never to be confronted,
The Highwaymen fear him,
And those people are fearless,
Stealing money, for that you have to be...

But still, people kept away,
From this man, who sang his heart out,
Fear, despair, the quality of happiness,
This lonely traveler meant,
He spoke in a gentle voice,
When taken aback he changed his tone,
Rapidly to say,
He played his guitar on and off,
Sang to it, played to it,
Until he once met a cat,
No ordinary cat though,
A cat like him,
With feelings...

He understood,
Placed his loneliness away,
For he then took the cat,
Stroked it, Matured it, made it Free,
From the bounds of its old master,
He now only had his bag,
His guitar and many other
Instruments he picked up along the way,
As well as his cat, the only one that can breathe,
The same breath and feelings,
People don't know how,
For once the traveler stroked the cat,
The cat became lonely...

One of quality, one of defense,
One to never fail,
With only the man to lead,
Nobody else, may feelings rule,
We rely on nobody else,
I realized that this man was rich,
He never however used this for expenses,
For nature to take and give,
For his feelings to rule,
But his nature to stop him,
The cat too, took all it needed for good health,
Nothing more or less...

This is unity,
One so precise and profound,
The Heavens couldn't tear it apart,
I took the chance to go up to the man, the traveler,
And say hello,
He replied, in a gentle voice,
No man of fear, only emotions,
Ones of type and quality,
We talked, he wasn't lonely now,
But when I left him,
I carried on following,
And he remained even until I died...

And there I still remember that,
That person that controlled his emotions so well,
That loneliness was the only option,
And there he is on my memories,
Pressed, like a scar,
Walking through those woods,
Those jungle trees,
Humming with the bees,
Controlling his emotions so well,
Just so well...

Loneliness was an option,
He placed that option first,
Never to stop,
Never to cease,
For he is the one to travel,
Alone, with only his cat,
One of which to he talked was me,
I don't know since,
But the Highwaymen still stay away,
From that Lonely Traveler of Feelings,
And I refer to him as this,
For he was everything in this name,
In this emotion world,
It sounds like a game,
But he was the one,
The one of only ones...

The man himself with his cat,
His majestic, playful guitar,
His bag,
His free, pure emotions,
The Lonely Traveler of Feelings... that was his name...
One to never forget...
It resides as a scar in depth memory,
Sheer memory of feelings...

(these were my feelings when I wrote this poem)

Comments about Lonely Traveler...

I wonder of the signifigance of his remaining after you had died....I enjoyed reading this.....like a book thet kept me guessing the ending......Vallerie

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