Saturday, August 27, 2011

Traveler

As I look behind
the road seems to have emerged
from a ribbon

As I look ahead
the road appears to end
into a similar one

Who's holding it straight & taut
this mid-portion of life

I recall visiting pyramids
the tombs made of stones
and wonder

Who could have lifted that last block
up there

I'm told that the wind though gentle
is capable of eroding memories
and I've witnessed the vagaries
of sandstorms

And still I have doubts
how the cool zephyr of dawn
can transform itself

I've wandered through towns
and its market places
I've traced vinegar in the smell
of a cobbler's hut

And I've roamed the graveyards
with their rows of white crosses
jutting out of the auburn grass
of autumn

I've questioned me
Do you see yourself amidst them
the sleeping warriors

I find myself on the bridge of my destiny

One end the bridge
seems to have emerged
from a quiet dawn

And the other lost to a rising mist
blurring every thing lying beyond

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