Travelers' Creed Poem by Martins Akhoeneto

Travelers' Creed



To a destination afar
Maybe tomorrow and never come
To Delta, to Atlanta?
No response
Trap on its bulky metal body
Sleeping on four Aladdin rings
That changes near to far
Gently glide, dine in hot bitumen
With piety, sprays the grain meadow
That flanks its gentle course
With sweet smelling carbard
You stand our mediator, yet
Caged in your enclave.

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