Where does it house?

by Himanjali

I dwell in this body.

My soul isn’t this,

It is the Sunday morning breeze.

The one, where there is an evening story,

Wailing baby, oh! My soul glares back at that cute little life

And, when there is a smile on the face of a wrinkled skin

As a mind of a toddler notorious, impatient, curious,

Fascinated by the slightest of things

It travels where  my friends gather for a cup of tea, and munch things together

It jumps to my family where they sit together for lunch every day

It houses places unknown, uncharted

Hungry for adventure, it seems

Happiness is all, it seeks.