Between flights, between trains,
spaces of time,
To some, this would be the purpose of joerney; yet another wolud want it in print,
Etched in the mind, between
The freezing smile and the relaxing pose.

It's been a day that seemed a journey, between
The opening and the closing of uneager eyes that are
Not entirely uncharmed, just unexcited, having forgotten their
Curiosity. But today I walked streets that felt altogether foreign,
Like clips of different movies
I failed trying to piece together.
Yet there was something that was suddenly enjoyable about this -
After week upon week that seemed no different from one another, this was
Quite like a journey.

Say then, what would the purpose of journey be?
Today there was none,
When between trains were other trains,
And between walks were other walks,
Yet somehow this purposeless movement,
Made me quite settled, not trying to look for a reason
To be in transit.