In the spirit of Shabistari - 1
When I was young, I dreamed all day of travel
When I was old enough, I spent all day travelling
When I had travelled much, I called myself a traveller
Now I sit here, still and silent on the cushions
while the roses release their perfume,
the peacock cries upon the wall,
and in the courtyard, the fountain plays;
and all my travel has returned to me,
all my travelling is within me,
travel, travelling and traveller are one;
and my mind travels to places I had never imagined
and I sense the world turning on its axis,
travelling around my self.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Added by Poetry Lover
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