We are sometimes called wanderers.
For across the world we roam.
Searching for the answers
Always looking for a home.
I walk across the arid land
From morning until night
Always in search of something
To explain my lonely plight
For I am the lonely man
And along this land I roam.
Seeking the forgiveness,
For something I have done
Some nights I walk the street.
Watching people that I see
They seem to have everything.
Why can't that person be me?
For I am lost, and all alone
And through the streets I roam.
Hoping to find something tomorrow
Always longing for a home.
The tears that fill my eyes
Are always blurring my sight
This is what I get to see
Through out my empty life
This is the way of all wanderers.
Cursed for ever and ever to roam.
Never finding what they seek.
And never having a home.
Jim 1956
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem