A Poem About Travel
and just like that my journey started.
The rain pours down, the thunder threatening to shatter the ancient ruins of Chichén Itzá.
Silhouettes of people running to shelter.
Cold, wet, scared, a man is laughing with the person who is holding me,
I can just make out his face. Do I know him?
The Effile Tower sparkles in the night, the
Museums, statues, paintings, fountains, there is so much to see.
A statue of an angle, a crowed surrounding the small girl drawing.
A picture of Sacré-Cœur hangs on the wall, a man resembling my grandfather, yet it is not him.
The cobblestone streets of Italy, the ancient ruins of Pompeii,
The Colosseum, the faint echo of the cheers or boos of the crowd, maybe the roar of a lion.
The sweet taste of gelato still lingers, waiting to be revived.
Down the Danube, drinking Kinder punch until I couldn’t drink anymore.
Now, the Christmas market mugs nestled away, a memory set aside.
Castles with grand ballrooms and libraries covered in gold.
The call to prayer startles you from your sleep, thinking it might be the police outside your door.
But don’t fret, let the
sunrise over Capadoccia calm you.
Let the gentle sway of the hot air balloon rock you to sleep as you sail over the Fairy Chimneys.
But never let the grand Hagia Sophia, the symbol of Turkey, slip
The gentle breeze rustles the bright green bushes, complimenting the old gray statues.
A hawk soars over Neuschwanstein Castle, the pale white contrasting with the blue sky.
Next, a gothic church looms over you, daring you to enter.
Neon signs flashing Japanese characters, advertising
The sushi chef making his cuts carefully, making sure the sushi is just right.
Young girls walk the streets dressed in Harajuku fashion.
E x a g g e r a t e d makeup.
Make sure you save time to step into the shoes of a geisha.
You have lost your shoe!
You have made your loop, and now you have ended up in the land of Tzars.
The bright colors of the Church of Spilled Blood hide the cruel punishment for its completion.
The stunning Amber room of Catherin the Greats Palace, where it is now? It is still a mystery.
The people walk the streets, not offering a smile as you pass by. Yet now, it is time to sail on.
You continue by bike, through the Netherlands, stopping for a picture infront of a windmill.
The chime of Big Ben pulls you away and whisks you away to a world of chocolate, in London.
But then, a storm comes, a storm of sand,
to a land
The streets are packed with cars, trucks, and a motorbike with a whole family.
You become enchanted by the hieroglyphs on the wall, hungry to
A 5,000-year-old civilization lost in the wind, stolen by the Greeks.
The strong smell of hotpot steers you east towards China.
Along the way, you join the Tibetian monks for a monk debate, but all to soon you must leave.
On the Yangtze you sail through looming gorges, guarding the gateway of China.
As your eyes are focused on the surrounding area, hoping to catch a glimpse of a tiger.
There it is.
The orange sun rises over the Taj Mahal, the honking of cars fills the air.