Looked up at the trees, 

Where breeze, swaying might be,

And saw a New World warbler unceasingly fly

On its trip to where it will land.

Looked  far away in the sea,

Where waves, raging would be,

And saw endless pods of Humpback whales,

To warm, tropical oceans, make their way.

And to tell, 

All of these, 

Have left but a deep desire inside of me

To step away from reality and bluntly leave

Looked up to my right,

To my left, where someone might be,

And saw nothing, but a hollow soul,

On its own, flying, free.

I’ve longed to conquer the air above the meadows someday,

And pass through the zephyr blowing it away

I’ve always begged to be that bird that flies,

That little, beautiful, butterfly,

That everyone would  look for

Somehow, somewhat, someday.

No matter how far or how long, away, it remains.

I’ve always found solace in the universe of my thoughts,

To which I nightly migrate,

Through which I lightly dance

Like a leave in the breeze would sway

I’ve always found a place to stay,

A bed to spend the night,

An armchair to read a book,

Imagery in endless forms,

In my world, far away

While memories stay with me,

And pollen is a butterfly’s way

While people move out,

And cold, a warbler’s horror remains,

While everyone has found a soul compass,

A lead, a country, a city, somewhere to stay,

I had lost access to my mind,

As if my hands had frozen on the doorknob

To the door leading me its way

As if I had lost my ability to imaginate,

To see in colors and skim marvelous senses

Sending thrills up my nerves,

Like thoughts of them would have done in the past days.

My luggage was thus empty, even of feelings,

Leaving me wandering, 

Lost on my own way, 

Looking for heat

For thoughts, for lands, 

But in vain

“Always head south,” then, I remembered they say,

Whenever, however, you fly away.

But what is north and where is south,

If lost I am, on my way to migrate?

What is north and where is south,

In a dimension that knows no ways?

A dimension that leaves me bewildered 

But with relief of sorrowful days

A dimension that has no routes,

Leaving me perplexed, all inside my brain 

A dimension that I failed to find in seas and lands,

For, to carry, it was much 

And to hold, it was out of touch

And so, astray, I gave up and said:

Perhaps a soul’s compass could precisely map its way,

Tailored to where it likes and cut-off where it hates,

Perhaps it would be what only a soul’s longing could trace.

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