I shall not find a traveller
with heavy bags filled of tree bark
thick and brown
like the clothes I wear
and the weight I carry
Dark and bitty-
clung to life's roots.
Filled to the brim.
Teaching me,
me.
Brilliant 'I love you' tags
placed on the outside of
dusty old bags.
Never,
have I had.
Don't want a briefcase.
Maybe a cotton back T.
Extravagant,
my peace.
His bright eyes divine,
Finding a home of my own,
a grass to be sewn.
Bunching my weeds
to neatly pack my things to bade.
Someday,
I'll stay.
Inside, I travel.
Outside I hold on to,
an emptiness that seems to smooth sharp edges.
In the middle lies plaster wedges.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem