The Wanderer

The man who has only yet partially arrived at freedom of reason cannot relate to this earth as anything but a wanderer- although not as a traveler turning his eyes towards a final goal in the distance, because there is no such thing.

Taking turns at every crossroads, while wandering, makes it seem as if there is no end to these deserted streets. There are people on these streets, yes there are, but still these streets are deserted.

 This life of wandering is a tormentor, for there will be no companions on the boulevard of chaotic changes, but it is changes that a wanderer strives on. A wanderer will meet many faces, he will go to many places, but he should not bind his heart to any single thing, because he will have to move on. There will be faces he will fall in love with, faces whom he will want to be with but he will have to let himself go. And at night all these faces will come back to haunt him, like the deserted streets. It will seem to him then, that it is his life, too, that has become barren, the second deserted street.

There is no place open for him, at nights of these torture, that will give him any refuge. And at the dawn he will meet a face from whom he had walked away from, that face will be like a vengeful sun, scorching his skin and blinding his vision. These faces will be as torturous as the deserted streets because they will be deserted of any emotions as well- just blank staring eyes.

The only recompense he will have is that he will see new suns- meet new faces. These faces will be to him like a dew drop on a grass in a winter morning, like the smell of soil when first rain falls. And when such dawn appears, with so much suns, he will see the streets further and  start his journey down the path again.

He will see other people understanding and treading the paths towards freedom of reason. They will take different paths but they will never reach anywhere because there is no destination for these wanderers.