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.