An explorer trying to know the roots

I am that little explorer who loves exploring everything. Like the corners of the house abandoned for years, like the vases left untouched forming a dust-shadow at the bottom just to see if there is anything new I’d found in it which once held beautiful flowers, like examining the old toys or board games to astonish myself and how could one come up with this idea. I want to explore the childhood of my grandparents to know were they born  wise & old unlike me who somewhat begrudgingly, blame the self for failing to accept the societal norms.
When on a trip, I like exploring those thick woods or scarcely lit paths which are strictly forbidden but everyone wants to sit at one place because they are tired. For me, I get tired of monotony, tonelessness and fear of not exploring anything new. What do I say, danger allures me like a bait to a fish. Ready to die but not ready to extinguish my thirst to know more, to know why has it kept at bay. I keep staring at birds, sometimes from afar, if only I could understand them my world would have been different or perhaps it still can be if they would accept me as their own because I’m a nomad too with invisible wings who can’t settle at one place, who wants to travel far and new places everyday the moment the dawn breaks on you. I keep mixing some odd colors with a locked hope of creating a brand new one – the shades, the hues that are already invented are now settled in their life so there’s got to be more. The tinge and the undertones that wants to be found, to be understood.

You see all these stuff makes me stand out. Sometimes a loner, sometimes an ignorant, sometimes a rebellion, sometimes a weirdo but I call it knowing the roots of life. So when a storm hits, those trees can re-grew itself because they know their roots.

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