Wanderer, Vagabond, Traveller, Gypsy

Time: Early morning

What are you searching for, oh wanderer, dear wanderer,

do you seek your address, the address to the home,

that home of your soul, to random people, searching,

for that corner, where you did float paper boats,

where you did fly paper planes, aplenty?

Time: Morning

Oh vagabond, dear vagabond, as you sing through the streets,

the street that remains engulfed in a vast array of cacophonic sounds,

your Sufi voice, quenching the thirst of so many ears,

but, but whose face douses your yearning,

whose eyes, hushes your eternal longing?

Time: Evening

Oh traveller, dear traveller, does your nose, in a sea of people,

feel that gentle smell of a mother's hand, that lulled you to sleep?

as your eyes keep searching for that patch of the moon behind the black clouds,

as your ears listen to the flutter of the silent winds,

does it catch hold of the long-lost jingle of the bangles,

of your grandmother, which fed you food, as you kept crying, profusely?

Time: Night

Oh, gypsy, dear gypsy, your eyes give away that tinge of sadness,

hidden behind the tunes of happiness, that you use to entertain,

but, what's there hidden in the deep dungeons of your heart,

that you keep hidden, that you want to keep hidden?

Wanderer, what is that you are seeking?

***