We all are little gypsies
Searching our long, lost home
On this vast, capacious planet;
The beautiful, ambrosial home
That we have left behind
In the last life
In the form of a place or a person.
Moments of perfection
Occur startlingly in life,
When we find our lost home
And our vibe attracts our tribe
Amid the green paddy fields
Or perhaps under the misty rainbows.
Then, a thousand bells tingle in our soul.
It is some extraordinary picnic,
Where the sounds of laughter
Erupt from the kernel of our existence,
Where the soul smiles and shines,
Pancakes taste like chocolate muffins;
Abundance of hilarity and jauntiness
Enlighten us to live.
Linking this poem with Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Picnic