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The Constant Traveller

Posted by on April 1, 2015
field-wheat-grass-path-blowing-wind

I piss where I will, as I move, and my tears fall at my feet

I travel overland

Over vast expanse of sea

I howl, cry and roar

Or whistle as I walk

Down hallways, highways

Long and empty

Across them too

Brushing through the trees

Valleys, tunnels, underpasses

That echo as I tread

Kicking up dust

Sand and shit and virgin snow

And think I recognise my own footprints

From long ago.

 

I blow through

At a hundred mile an hour

Shake and stir shit up

Or breeze idly by

But I never stop.

 

I travel day and night

An empty beach in pre-dawn glow

Over rock

Tarmac

Grass

Grain

And rubbish dumps

Leave a trace

Mark a trail

Make a mess

Smash a window

Go by unseen.

 

I piss where I will

As I move

And my tears fall at my feet.

 

I can be harsh, or cold

As bitter Black Sea winter chills

Far-flung glaciares

Saint Petersburg city streets

My mood dark and heavy burdens borne

But what I pick up

I soon drop.

I travel light.

 

Or warm, gentle, favourable

After long summer’s eves

Of orchards, vineyards, poppy fields

Along the riverside

In the clouds and skyscraper hotel rooftop bars.

 

Sometimes I meet others like me

Travel together a while

Become inseparable

Come to blows

Go our separate ways.

 

I’ve been travelling so long

I don’t know when I started

Or how I’ll come to rest

How I’ve changed

What I’ve lost

Or what I’ve gained.

A memory? Idea?

An experience or two?

Have I left it all behind?

Acquired something new?

Made of entirely different stuff?

Hollow and see-through

Is there anything still in me

From those days when I set out

On this endless journey?

I know I’m not the same throughout.

A single cell, particle or grain?

Thought or string or chain?

 

I gave up trying

To steer my course

Control or even choose my path

Leave it to the gods or God or

Nothing in particular.

 

I’ve travelled all over

Seen, touched and tasted

Passed by everything

All but still and stagnant secrets

Which I’ve no part in.

 

Today an eagle

Rested on my back

I helped to push a boat out

And a man, from a cliff

I’ve helped and I have hindered

If you know I’m on my way

Better to work with me

Than try to go against

Sometimes in my anger

I’ll throw it from my path

Or go around, and admit

No-one’s all-powerful after all.

 

But let me roam

‘Cause you may keep me (out) a while

But you’ll never really stop me

I’ll prevail.

I was born to move!

 

I am wild

I’m free

Or as close as we can hope to be.

3 Responses to The Constant Traveller

  1. Graham

    Poetry and swearing, always a good combination

  2. Karina Kirk

    Great poem and all I can say to that is……….

    And now I live a half life of dullness and routine
    with memories sadly fading of the places touched and seen
    I’ve tried different types of travel, most that involve the mind
    but only when I’m moving by plane or train or any other kind
    am I truly where I’m meant to be.

    Some of us are travelers and some need to belong
    to one place or to one person and like birds they sing their song
    of contentedness or triumph or just their daily bread
    but I will remain a traveler until the day I’m dead.

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