Many called him a wanderer,
Others’ referred him useless guy,
the one who always wants to fly,
Waste his time, being ponderer.

He stopped explaining his decision,
defending himself or his passion.
Travelling appealed his conscious,
the ups and down within were obvious.
Travel showed mirror of life many times,
He avoided those, as it reflected petty crimes.

The failures sometimes, made him cry,
the hopes, gave vibes of conqueror,

ensured not to be squanderer,
the hope inspired to give a try.

There were days of scrumptious meals.
Travelling showed greener pastures on wheels.
The flip side of travel not very far,
Days without food, life seemed unfair.
The sky covered him with blanket as he gazed the stars,
With ground as mattress, stones pillow, he won mental wars.

Good or bad, following passion is a choice,
He accepted being wanderlust without noise.
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