You loved to call yourself a nomad
You had been to places whose existence I could only dream of
You taught me the names of drinks,I still can’t pronounce
You spoke about green meadows, music shows
Autumn trees, and wild bees
You spoke about adventures of tigers chasing you
And times you tried to chase them back.
Every time I met you
You were a stranger
the farther you went, the stranger you became.
you told me about the weirdest of towns
About an all consuming waterfall where people liked to end their lives
About a city of silhouettes,where people romanticised forty-five degrees of heat
But you narrated them all like a 40 year old middle-class man.
Apathy in every word.
At the end of every conversation
You told me you hated those cities,their bricks and buildings
I realised you haven’t been travelling all this while
You were escaping from a city to another, everytime that you realised you couldn’t survive
You were a nomad in the true sense
but you came back here every single time
Right at where you left.
and it all left me wondering,despite all those glorious places you’ve been to,
Why would you escape to a city as barren as me.