Letter to a Wanderer

Chéri wanderer,

You are drowning; breathing; sinking down but you keep wandering. They say to you that you need lands to ground your roseated garment. They say to you that only paved roads can lead you to luminous skyscrapers. 

Your soul keeps floating , chéri wanderer. You take a trip to crossroads. Abandoned vineyards greet you and mint milestones mark your dosage of insanity. The chivalry carves your bosom but the gypsies offer you bootleg whiskey. You become the settling sun of scarwny cannibals and the rising curtains of a melodrama.

When you feel lost, chéri wanderer, take out the compass hiding in your pocket of illusions. You will watch the orienting lines upright and bezel ring playing ringa ringa roses with your eyes. Do you believe the blue lace agate guiding the needle? Delirium kicks in, water bubbles in your bathtub and blankets cover your frozen feet. The needle keeps ticking, keeps dallying with your vision, keeps moving. What do you do next? Will they let you be sated with drowning? What they can't decipher, they condemn. They worship their comforting carpets but sleep on dead beds. They bury unwanted kins in dark muds but want their body to reach the sky.

 Wander and fall in love with beautiful eyes of nothingness. Forgive them for belittling essence of time. Keep wandering until you have broken the circle. Forgive them for making shallow waters their gods. Rest only when the weeping willows needs your banded amethyst to find dark caverns . Rest only when the needle stops and the blue lace agate fades in sunlight. 

But your soul must wander, 

for your soul had no shadow

chéri wanderer.