The woebegone fellow stumbled in the sand

Looked up to the heavens and lifted his hand

In search of Something for years on end

The weary traveller had finally gone round the bend.

Knowing, yet not knowing, he had nix to show

His pursuit of Something was a failure from the word “go”

Tired and weary his face said

For all one knew, he might as well have been dead.

Penniless, foul with tattered clothing

All looked upon him with resentment and loathing

In a constant state of dishevel and mess

He was no more an aristocrat, he had to confess.

In his search for Something he wasted his life

Lost his riches and a beautiful wife

She eloped with the butler it was said

In the tabloids, but those he never read.

The hunt for Something became a ruthless obsession

Leaving it incomplete was out of the question

So he kept travelling through the world’s greatest cities

Attracting strangers’ apathy and pity.

He thought he’d acquire Something soon, anyday

But the longer he travelled, the more he strayed

Though a lot he had travelled, and a lot he had lost

He thought he must find Something at any cost.

So he wandered and he roamed all day and night long

Singing to keep himself sane, a tantric Indian song

Something was difficult to come by in that time

But atleast it provided me with some words to rhyme.

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