The Lonely Travel Poem by Arvind Ilamaran
The Lonely Travel
A treaded path of crumbling gravel,
With scent of roses in humble travel,
locked on pain are my tainted senses,
tightly bound in unmade fences,
a distant grumble of hidden menace,
hollering the call for vital seance,
in the fading light of quondam day,
i heard the vox of conscience say,
relieve the onus of binding past,
relive the life that's yours at last.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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8/29/2026 2:07:37 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
