It’s three in the morning, everybody
is asleep on the plane, except
me. Cabin crews nowhere but
inside a room that says
cabin crew only.

I see the changing of clouds
I am above
A quiet sea of violet flat clouds
Turning into puffs and cottons
of white ones. It’s 4:30.

You won’t miss a thing
when you are in it, only
when you are far away from it.
Why is it always hard to let go
and move on? I know
it takes time.

A traveler is not a lord, nor a slave
But a traveler at heart is like
a paper boat. Unsure.

A traveler must be flexible
who lives with the present moment
and leaves the past behind, the future
waiting. He savors every second
and be like the people in the place

A traveler becomes an alien
of his own country when
he comes back home.


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