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I Travel Alone

From the last drop of blood
Of maternal last cycle
To bloodshed in Gaza

From the smell of earth
After the first drop of rain
To the stench of burning flesh

From the first ride on a pram
Before the sun went down
To the last on a wheelchair

I travel alone.

From the pelvis thrust of Elvis
Before Tambourine Man
To the sound of Rastafari

From the perverse rumble
Of a sex-starved nation
To the plunder of a hymen

From the need of a God
As an excuse to surrender
To the search for a stargate

I travel alone.

From the boatsmen singing blues
Navigating their way back home
To the bard driving a limousine

From the works of Tagore
And a nation’s arrested glory
To the modern troubadour singing ‘Sensitive Kind’

From Guevara and Lennon
And the colours of an acid trip
To being a rebel to be hip

I travel alone.

From the grumpy face of a monk
In search of Nirvana
To the laughter club in the neighbourhood

From the return of Buddha
And incomplete family responsibilities
To the rebel son of Gandhi

From Ibn Battuta
And the raw madness of wanderlust
To guided tours of mindfulness

I travel alone.

copyright@anupam sen gupta
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