The Unbound

Yes, the days keep passing by,
the traveler meets strangers,
his way moves on....
rest is hard to find,
wayside junctions abound,
no joy for the anguished mind,
always to be found.
Ceaseless struggle going on,
wound feeding upon wound,
dreams, fancies, perceptions, facts ----
a constant, weary roam,
a sadness, unknown
gripping, to be owed. Smiling face in shanty towns,
People return greetings with frowns; Passes on:
a tired gallop,
drooping gait, heavy stirrups,
but head held high,
himself hs own, nobody nigh... Goes the searching soul, unbound.

by Muhammad Navid Ahmed

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