Tuesday, March 10, 2009

To a Pilgrim

(In which travelers should decide where their hearts truly live.)


Fain would I write to you.
You who have lived your life in the arms of foreign lands,
You who have admired the glory of the east and the west,
but forgot the resplendence of your homeland.
You who have felt the coldness of snow
and smelled the scent of falling leaves
but never felt the sensation of your homeland’s shores beneath your feet,
I write to thee.

Go on.
Travel to your heart’s contentment.
Have a taste of lives beyond this land.
Fly among the clouds that float on lands of your desires.
Climb the peak of magnificent snow-capped mountains.
Explore the beauty of the blue seas.
Lose yourself in the harmony of violins.

Bathe your soul with the sweetest of wines.
Dance and make love to princesses and queens.
Feel the warmth and passion burning within them.
Listen to the songs of the nightingale.
while looking at the vast panorama
of kingdoms
and neon-lit cities.
But never forget to go back to the real hearth of your heart.
For sweetest is the embrace of one’s native land’s breeze
and sacred are the golden rays of sun over the hills in a child’s first memories.

Go places.
And come back home.
For a traveler without a home is a vagabond.
And futile is luxury without peace.
Then it is just far to say
that fate will send you back to your Mother Land’s embrace.
And in finality you’ll kiss her loving hand as dust.
Home at last.

***March 11, 2007***

11:41 pm