Gypsy love

How do you love the gypsies?

The lovers of many a love

They of a thousand interests

And hundreds of missions

They of many horses

Stallions of many colours

Hues from blacks to whites

Committed to a million journeys

Travelling through dark waterways

Discreet alleys and dangerous woods

They that thrive and enjoy

The comfort of a trillion homes

Abodes on nests and caves

Owning them not, leaving naught trace

Destinations unknown, but arrived at nonetheless

Reasons unspoken, yet understood, intrinsically

Strings unattached, albeit there, unmistakably

Songs sang and unsung, in a single breath

Memories made and unmade, instantaneously

It’s as if they never were but are, still

As though gone but their presence behind, left

Like a vivid dream, tears still rolling

A beautiful sunset, darkness setting in fast

A lovely summer, petals lie scattered

A full moon, a false light

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