I see a frozen road
and pick-up my tack
To revisit my old inns.
There they stand-
Some in frozen mist,
Some in faded colours
And some echoing deep within.
In these inns
I lived once-
Had walked a long distance
To be what I am
To reach the dale of life.
Among the inns,
Between the milestones,
There is a story of pain,
There is a story of gain.
Along the road
I met umpteen faces.
Some pushed me into darkness,
Some pulled me towards light.
It was a long walk,
It was all my own experience.
And to all faces and hearts
I owe my life and phases.
Through the window sill
I see a frozen road.
A nightingale takes her lute
And begins a ceaseless song
unto my decades and beyond,
unto my silence profound.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I'm a wine bibber and this poem reminded me of myself and the term BARD. This bar then on the road. Make many friends mostly, not to many enemies. GOOD TIMES - GOOD TIMES