The French Man

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
I met someone who had come to my country on a journey and we grew a great friendship between us. He leaves tomorrow and while, on one hand, I'm sad to have to let him go, on the other, I wish the very best on the rest of his journey and all his endeavours in life. I hope you like reading it and tell me where I can improve it. Suggestions are highly welcome.

Submitted: February 26, 2019

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Submitted: February 26, 2019

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He walked into the city at dawn

finding the neighbourhood sleepy,

He tiptoed into his allotted room

lest the sleepyheads suspect things creepy!

He swiftly dropped to the bed

and dissolved into a peaceful slumber,

He would eat later and charge the phone

that bore his Indian number.

The trip to the market that day

was remarkable in more ways than one,

There were things he didn’t understand,

things of which there was a ton!

Back in his silent, cosy room

he browsed through many a photograph

when a series of impatient knocks at the door

began to relentlessly chafe.

Exasperated, he answered the door,

Standing there was his friend,

Now he knew the tales would begin,

stories that would never end.

The friend asked him of his journey,

where from had he come, where would he go,

He told her of the countless lands,

the sultry deserts and the serene snow.

He recounted the tales of people he met,

of mountains and valleys he trod,

of myriad, beautiful creatures in Nature,

restless monkeys, flying pigeons, and a bursting pea-pod!

The famous ghats of Varanasi,

the breathtaking Taj Mahal at Agra,

His camera had captured it all,

along with the Rajasthani girl in the ghaghra.

His expert hands put new life into each click

as his never-tiring legs took him places

where he saw weird things in the alleys,

congested markets and also bike races!

“Tell me more, don’t stop!”,

the friend said excitedly,

He smiled at her childlike enthusiasm,

those eyes that shone at him so fondly.

He told her of his experience in China,

of the beautiful monasteries in Nepal,

the friends he had made in Iran,

and the famous spots in Bhopal.

He spoke of a distant sunset

that was too amazing to forget,

She saw the hues come alive in his eyes,

sharp eyes that knew not any regret.

The tales of his travel continued,

She hung on every word falling on her ears,

They took a break to celebrate his adventures,

What fun was anything without a couple beers?

She became amusingly garrulous

with the alcohol inside of her,

He spoke of broken locks and stones

and she responded with a cat-like purr!

Evening came and she left for home,

He wondered if she’d soon be back,

She thought of his tales with a smile,

The French man, travelling was whose knack.


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