Being Never Away

Words marked the route of a wet street,

And it remained in the book, discreet.

Footsteps led to a wondrous heap,

Beauty once eyed and it never eyed sleep.

Odyssey enthralled upon,

That handwritings on the pages lay.

Paths walked and begone,

And memories to details, refuse to dismay.

We all like to keep a piece of each,

We like, never to forget.

Be it mountains, skies, river or a sunny beach,

Sized accounts help us all, to recollect.

It can be a little notebook, bound papers, frail,

So it stores every moment and every experience you slay.

Finally, as it is inked (penned), it becomes a brail,

And in the future when you read it, travel has its own say.