Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Poem for Today


The man with no homeland walks,
 Always moving,
Sometimes I call it traveling.

 Trying to be part of something,
Each town - I want to make it mine,
A place where I have memory or family, Or a lover.
Each country, I beg it to be mine, to claim me,
To wrap me tight in its flags,
So I can cheer and sing its songs.

But there is always some difference,
And I can't feel part of anything,
Sometimes it's the way the light shines on my shell,
That makes me separate,
Or that I have no history there,
Or no person.

But I share its peoples' life, this same air, and dirt,
It drapes over my shoes.
Something keeps me apart,
So I keep walking, looking.

Jan 2011

1 comment:

lorraine said...

If you were a young pretty girl you would be grasped by the people of the country - especially if you are white and they are dark. I think men have a harder time of it. When I traveled in the East - I was brought in to every family and of course the young men. As soon as I hit Europe - my movie star status stopped - I looked just like everyone else. Such is life. Now I am much older and invisible but that's o.k. I can read your blog. Thank you for keeping this up for so long.