|
Like a vagabond I move,
An itinerant.
I do not know
Where I belong to!
Nothing I feel of my own,
Nowhere have I felt
The need of my return.
That pull,
That thirst
Which will starve me, burn me, dry me,
Keep me awake for nights.
The mountains, the rivers, the oceans
The trees, the deserts
All embrace me, wherever I go.
What I need, are my words
Which can sink me into them
And I feel at home. |
