Right in my back yard
In desert plains
Out In the wilderness
During monsoon rains
I spot a herd
of white wooly sheep
And in their midst
I see a colourful turban peep
Bronzed by Sun a weathered face
White Loin cloth
he drapes with superior grace
With keen eyes attentive gaze
He scans the land
for his herd to graze
He is not another common,
everyday goatherd
He's a gypsy,
Comes from another world
To many lands he must have been
Privy to secrets,
of fallen and pristine
There s nothing
That he has not seen.
Nonchalant monk so much at peace
All through my lazy day
In hot blaze or rainy haze
He takes care of his sheep and stock
Lest they walk away and stray
It's evening time and I can see
Little fires lit with sticks and leaves
Earthen pots on fire tops
Time to eat, then stars to watch.
Wish I could just run away
From this world, just turn away
I am a gypsy in my heart
Maybe hitch my caravan
Time to make, a new start.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem