As youthful dew begins to
descend on me,
Then paths divide before my eyes,
And I stand,
My thoughts in disarray,
Seeking escape,
Dragging the broom of choice.
Gulliver’s raffia weaves its baskets,
Round my heart,
As I dream of wild winds,
On turbulent seas.
Life spread out before me,
A wide expanse of landscape,
Seeking adventurers.
And I stand, still.
My gaze scaling higher,
Beyond my dreams.
The lush grasses
Entwined with thorns,
Yet, my heart disowns the knowledge
Of another’s experience.
For I desire,
Yes, I desire.
To see with my eye,
To be pricked by wild thorns.
If I must,
Then I must.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem