Tuesday, May 26, 2015

The wind speaks no more

That I no longer scribble my longings & speak to the wind, I fear I truly am desolate. 

I am mired down. This quiet swamp, nothing that breathes visits me. Perhaps it's ungrateful to say that I now prefer the xeric solitude of being away from home.

When the self is uprooted from its birthplace, one is a wanderer. A seeker of connection in unfamiliar lands. A survivor who strives. An independent wayfarer who holds Love in his heart instead of his hands.

Studying overseas have instilled in me a duality in what I define as 'home'. Such a strange concept that evolved through out the 4 years I spent in Australia.

It's true. The heart longs for longing. A conundrum.

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