For the first time in my life,


what I feel is
not the long-lost nostalgia;
not the foreboding sense of despair;
not pain;
not hurt;
not slithering reptiles up my neck;
not a suffocating pair of hands;
not suppression;
nor depression.


I can feel the solitude
like waves on a cliff.
They lash, and each lash
leaves behind a solemn trail.
And the trails can speak.
Or rather, scream.


Follow us, into even more dysmal depths
and more solitude awaits.
You speak of solitude?
Have you noticed it before?
Know what colour it is?
Have you seen it in somebody’s eyes?
Have you read unspoken words on anybody’s face?
And you dare speak about solitude?”


The screams dont last,
and the waves wash away.
The trails are no more.
But the questions they leave,
are bound to stay.
And I am overpowered.
And there is a huge question-mark
growing large within me.


Travellers and solitude. It’s always a 1+1 offer.



About Abhi Surendran

Abhi quit his corporate job, and decided to immerse himself in travels, photography, occasional periods of bankruptcy, and copious amounts of insanity. He is currently working on a book of his experiences, and a dream road trip through South Asia. Both in a haphazard fashion. He blogs at Iamnothome and you can also catch him at times on Facebook and twitter.

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