My old worn-out rucksack
you walked through night and rain
witness to my silence and anger
and bitter triumph 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 jaded sacks ?
And haven of freshness for adventurer's weary feet ?
-
Author:
lorenz (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: January 17th, 2025 09:14
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 16
- Users favorite of this poem: LP2187, sorenbarrett, Ellen Marsell
Offline)
Comments5
Excellent write
On the road again ... Thank you !
You're welcome
A trustworthy rucksack who goes everywhere with us and witnesses all the adventures, a great poem which shows that objects can hold so much value. Very nice to read.
Do inanimate objects
have a soul
that attaches itself
to our soul
and the strenght to love ?
I believe so!
This poem speaks to me Lorenz this old sack a friend of life's journeys is so familiar in metaphor and it strikes at the heart of a weary traveler
Soren you're an old backpack' !
Yea I've carried enough burdens
This heartfelt dialogue with the rucksack radiates a remarkable sense of humanity and warmth, akin to speaking with a long-lost friend. The old rucksack is a symbol of all those moments that can never be brought back, embodying the spirit of travel, energy, and freedom. It also evokes the struggles that accompanied those travels, making them an integral part of the experience. A truly moving and beautiful piece.
So many long-lost friends ... Thanks Ellen !
Woah wow it is not just a fine tribute to your travel companion rucksack its a fantastic memories of travel poem. Kudos!
Plz also read and comment my newest poem too
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