And the Story Travels

A traveller I met last night in a dream,
He carried some bags full of Turkish saffron;
And pockets that intoxicated with aromas of Italian coffee,
He spoke a language decoded by Persian camels.
Every word salted by the sultry Mexican beach,
A secret sacred that the Himalayan nagas whispered in his ears,
The traveller narrated of the Mongolian shaman he encountered,
And the dancing demons hallucinating fears.
Of the lady in red who waited in Santorini Blues,
For the return of this traveller while she nursed their unborn son;
Of the Breweries in France where they first met,
The monasteries of Bhutan where their first kiss was done.
The traveller said he will return to her soon,
But now he's headed towards the White lands of Southern Alps;
The Penguins are waiting to cross the lands with him tonight,
And then he will tell me of their secret paths;
But dear traveller how do you know?
The tales of hidden lands and forests so dense;
He smiles as he packs his bags and starts again,
My darling dreamer, it all begins with a travel; 
And finally as storytellers we all end.