Not intent on arriving

I am a traveler

I have tickets to everywhere

I know that isn’t fair

And if you think this is hot air

Allow me to share;

Manuscripts are my airfare!

A book in hand

Is worth a ticket around the world

Many that one could afford

With a yearning to understand

The wisdom of the gods

You are no longer blind

When I reads I paint

Pictures of emotions felt

By peoples different

In hearts, of lands distant

Pains and laughs otherwise faint

Becomes suddenly so acute

Every time I read

I taste wine and rare bread

From the bakeries of the dead

And somehow breed

With their attitudes and creeds

Gradually I am freed

On scribbled tablets

I find dark alleys

And numerous tunnels

Leading to elongated railways

Some, wide and common pathways

Most, narrow and troubled waterways

Whenever I read

I find and plant a seed

That painfully grows to feed

My innermost desires and needs

Thus, I ascend

That is why I read.

"The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page." -- St. Augustine

Who are we?

They make us cut our locks, by their piercing looks
We change our wardrobes, so we are not labeled rebels
So we can fit, and attain goals masked by the mist
How they rule over our creative souls is cruel.

They say we look shabby, and out goes our ragged denim
That music its too loud, and there we are turning it down
Rock and roll is the devil's, at them we could throw pebbles
But why don't we? Scared spineless we!

Hiding our tattoos, as if they were marks of failure
Not pursuing painting, for we can't defend what is for sure
Here we are frustrated, with a boring job to endure
If only we made that call, do we not know our cure?

Shifting in our coloured skin, as if we don't belong
Speaking silence, for fear of saying it wrong
Are we not of this race, this very human song
Of freedom, of power? enslaved for how long?

You marry her, and yet you kiss his face
In the closet you sit and long for same else
Unfair to your wife and untrue to yourself
All because they prosecute and persecute

Why do we let them prevail, and retreat behind our veils
Have we a good response? have we no bravery as to riposte?
Its a shame, that we have no name amongst them
But what they call us, make us, FAKE US!