Friday, December 23, 2011

The Journey

"I gathered Love's adjectives

into a suitcase and

fled from all languages"

Nizar Qabbani

I pack a suitcase

as my life emerges

In journeys

The lightness of drifting

Is loaded with

such gravity

that I have never found

In any home

But what is a home after all,

Other than

A shapeless word.

When I journey,

Colours change,

Yellow is warmer in LA

Red in Boston

Green in Tehran

In each voyage,

Details take over

And general things become


In each quest I find

A woman I didn't know before

In Westwood cafes,

I become shy,

And the weight of each curious gaze

makes me seventeen again.

[Sometimes in London,

I am forty

as if I have been walking a lifetime

Along the Thames]

When I travel,

I become.

I listen more.

I fear less

I walk endless strolls

Even in Los Angeles, where walking

Is a rare disease.

I feel the pilgrimage in my sore foot soles

And those blisters

Are bliss.

When I journey

Nothing can seem


And nothing can feel


Even the only four pieces of

Clothes that I wear


My odyssey

Comes to life on platforms

On trails, in gates, on the go

Breaching time

Lifting me up

Building me a home

Piece by piece,

In fragments.

LA, Feb 2009