Old rucksack

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 ?