My old worn-out rucksack
you walked through night and rain
witness to my silence and anger
and bitter triomph of my solitude,
at dawn throwing off the chains
of a sleeping beauty ,
and tomorrow was mine ...
At dusk you rested on a patch of grass
and the meager fire of the stars warned us...
In you I locked away my secret travel dreams,
choosing the distant over the present love,
and when wandering became wise ,
the beauty found the journey in other arms...
A little mocking you looked at me ,
seeming to whisper :
\'\' We\'ll soon be off in pursuit of the clouds ?\'\'
And once again I succumbed to your old lover\'s seduction.
My old sack scarred by rebel jungles
and the gaze of contemptuous citie .
Do you remember that little hotel in Kathmandu
amidst the madmen who know travel in smoke ?
Old companion ,sometime I\'d throw you to the ground,
feeling you like a curse ,kicking you around !
I knew it made you laugh !
You shared my youthful violence as a lone wolf !
Off the road no other value ...
We thought that fraterniy existed around the holy shilom !
And I laughed too ,not realizing that you were aging
far more I was, in that mirror reflection
the wrinkle of a past first harvest ...
And then ,one day,I dropped you off
deep in the woods ,
near a spring to soothe your fever
and I shamefully ran away
behind walls hiding the stars...
My nights miss your rough leather ,
this is the meaning of my letter ...
Friend ,do you remember the vanilla scent
of those islands that linger in my mind
when today was just a stop over for our illusions ?
Is there a paradise for tired old sacks ?
And haven of freshness for adventurer\'s weary feet ?