Every year, around this time,

I take my senses and the devices,

On a trek, covering half of the globe,

Lest they would become complacent,

Doing a small fraction of their ability,

Day after day, after day.

While the poet in me revels,

In the smell of coffee served by strangers,

At various airports, hotels and planes,

In white cups and saucers,

With sweet cookies to go with that,

And whatever you wish and more.

The journey becomes the destination,

The unacquainted smiles, a fascination,

The senses struggle at first, but then succumb,

Devices show many timezones, all at once.

From the dry, cool silicon valley,

To the land where moisture hangs by a thread,

Ready to break away upon a prayer,

I travel, the observer, the absorber,

Along with my senses and my devices,

Hopping from plane to plane,

And plan to plan,

Till there is no more to see.