Passing through cities in time
I anchor for a few nights
Sitting with them, I rhyme
Life is good, whether its wrong or right?
Embracing them I climb
To another plane, another height
Truth is still distant and sublime
Hope is sprinkled in the sight
With my bag of memories, I move on
With a heavy heart, I must depart
Before the break of the dawn
I must move out my cart
The promise of a verdant lawn
A new course, I chart
If it doesnt stimulate, I yawn
I must make a new start
There is a sort of romantic appeal to the idea of a nomadic life.... always transient, never settling, but 'at home' in one place for a short time; then there is the saddening side, of not indeed having a home, or being 'at home' especially with oneself. I think you express this marvellously. It sort of touches a point somewhere for me. t x
A rather interesting plee, , , , , or statement of fact, , , , , , emotion shows a sadden heart well done
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Whe nmuch younger, i knew a few wanderers, and i would sware at times that they'd be able to capture solace & happiness quicker & maintain it longer than many of my more fortunate friends....Guess it all comes dpwn to the hert& soul definition of 'fortune'....Excellent imagework, T.O.....Splendid dipiction, crisp structure...the full package, here... F.J.R.