To Lao Tzu: An Apology For Being A Traveller Poem by babitha marina justin

no fixéd plans
no intentions to arrive
yet, a traveller
writer of verses
springing
from a superficial self
words
jerk out in an tongue
strange to me.
words paint
confusions of mind
no fixéd tracks
paths winding
into the labyrinths
of mind’s irresolutions
no pearls of wisdom
just letters, meaningless
scored on paper
living to tell
the pain of being.

You tell me, my love
that my eyes wander
my tongue skirts taunts
how do I match you?
your queries
don’t have my answers.
You echo me!