! In The Spirit Of Shabistari - 1 Poem by Michael Shepherd

When I was young, I dreamed all day of travel

When I was old enough, I spent all day travelling

When I had travelled much, I called myself a traveller

Now I sit here, still and silent on the cushions
while the roses release their perfume,
the peacock cries upon the wall,
and in the courtyard, the fountain plays;

and all my travel has returned to me,
all my travelling is within me,
travel, travelling and traveller are one;
and my mind travels to places I had never imagined
and I sense the world turning on its axis,
travelling around my self.