From room to room
with just toothbrush and picture frame,
like a traveling, door to door, salesman
who, in going everywhere,
belongs nowhere!
I, too, am homeless, a nomadic Bedouin
without hearth, child or woman’s breast
to warm my heart by,
impart life’s wounded wisdom to,
nor rest my weary head against…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem