Where does it house?
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.