Travel for the love and love for the travel

Travel for the love and  love for the travel

Be it a need or a passion
a man travels very often
from one location to another
around his locality or the world over
passing through many a corridor
besieged by scenic wonders of nature
by transport with options many
by foot and by air to cruise journey,
for the travel, the need, and passions
are urged by age, opportunity, and companions.
Reminisce I my travels over seven decades
to rejuvenate my drooping spirit, it aids
Thanks to Lord’s grace
traveled, I, many a place
in our own country and the world over
gazing at things around as a keen observer
at Cancun, Paris London, and the Australian ocean
the Mexican dances, the Eiffel Tower, and corals for fun.
change of guards and Madam Tushar museum
Roman wonders that make viewers dumb.
Beijing, Teheran, Toronto, Dubai’s glamour
to the visitors, certainly, all these bewilder.
Glorified lakes and mountains, enhance Swiss beauty
and in Malaysia Singapore Thailand allures plenty.
Far and wide traveled I the state and own nation
with means of transport that then were used to run.
But cherishing the most still I reminisce
my travels to my parents that I now miss
Once a year, leaving my college
on a long vacation, I came to my village
when I was in my sweet teens
still in me vibrant are those scenes
the travel the transport and on the way, the thrill,
love for my kith and kin and village urging my will,
The intent longings to be in my homeland,
by a long separation from it thus was fanned
the love for all of my friends of childhood
the nature around fueling it with firewood.
Move I in the evening prior to the day of vacation
getting relief from a strenuous annual examination
by train or by bus and cycle rickshaw as transport
reach I at a city, thirty kilometers from my village post.
Then often reminisce I
forgetting Oldagerr’s grief and sigh
as I enjoyed most my travel further
the titi bits of the travelers still I nurture.
by rickshaw, bus, and train as transport
cycles or bullock cart and feet as support
till I used to reach the bank of our river
and then took boats to cross over
waiting at places for an onward connection
a half day it takes from the city to my destination.
As thirty kilometers is a journey arduous
blend I it with other transport to avoid the fuss.
Buses and trains were then few and far between
The bus has no AC no glasses and only a window screen.
coal-fired engines were driving the train
slow it goes stopping at the pulled chain.
a lot of time was spent in the intermediate location
while waiting for transport to my destinations
.but with passengers many in the junction
time is sweetly spent in conversation
with people of all cross sections of the society
dwelling on politics, and economics to events in the vicinity.
Cycle rickshaws pulled and pedaled by a man
often we used to cover a twenty-kilometer span.
it travels partly on the embankment of a river
and partly through the forest under darkness cover.
The foliage of creepers over trees in the forest
the rays of the mighty sun, that arrest
prove the strength of the unity over the mighty.
Behind the bushes foxes jackals wolves look funny.
The baits hanging upside down on a banyan tree
in hundreds hang those - a sight now we do not see.
Chirping birds, playful beasts lessen the travel-burden
but the howling sounds, horrendous robs the fun.
forest flowers spreading their fragrance around
the beauty of foliage and colorful worms on the ground
turns hours into minutes tome does not annoy
and turns sweat of tiredness into tears of joy
while on the rickshaw by the road on the riverbank
not the water but the river’s grandeur I drank
the floating birds, the millions of waves reflecting the sun
blue water swimming fishes, the other bank’s parallel run
the sweet river breeze, the trees’ gentle swings
are in fact mind blowing and captivating
Nature, through green forest river water blue
an hour's travel in it reveals its panoramic hue.
On an untreatable track, the Rickshaw moves on
the puller pedal and drags it with profuse perspiration.
Where the gradient is too high
he gives up his pedaling- try
drags the rickshaw to move on
as he has to reach the destination
but I alight from the rickshaw to push from behind
his gratitude in his eyes I find.
On the bank of our river
bade I adieu to the rickshaw puller
severing our four-hour connection
absorbing, on the way his narrations
on his experience on subjects myriad
philosophy of life to the devastating flood
from the wisdom enriched by the sweat of his brow
and across the hard life, he had to row.
Approach I my village across the river
child in me still wishing to play with her water
I used to feel the aura of love and affection
from animate and inanimate, me well-known.
the trees, on it, the birds the sand on it the sandstones
river banks and boat boatman with them I was grown.
cross I river by boats splashing river water
requesting boatman to sing for me, turned down he never.
tears well up in my eyes with emotional upset
as those days have fleeted none such I would ever get.
Crossing over the river
the peepal tree and banyan tree together
seemed to welcome me with their luxuriant top
where numerous birds from branch to branch hop.
under their shed, I played as a child
enjoying, stoning at the birds as my wisdom wild
never I hit a bird by my throws innumerable
the time I reached that high my wisdom was not brittle.
laying prostrate saluting the shrine
moved I, ahead praying to the power, divine
Bushes in the bushy forest
with animals and birds at rest
extend their embraces at me
finding their child with glee
aided by evening wind from the river
as if all in symphony and sweet murmur
welcome me to their fold
the feeling is too emotional and cannot be told.
at village and home after a year of separation
it will take volumes for description.
“Travel for the love and love for the travel”
the former brings joy benign and blissful
the other brings joy temporarily for the moment
resulting in frustration as an imminent
as the aspiration for the next travel spirals up.
and unsatisfied aspirations after aspirations gallop.

P K Routray
in the service of the Lord