PAGE ELEVEN
I WALK A THOUSAND MILES�
I walk a thousand miles to find You
And wonder if You�d be there.
When I catch up I bow to touch
Your feet - but I cannot reach
even though I try.
You stand amongst the poorest �
where barefooted destitute
take refuge. I try to reach You
But pride doesn�t let me stretch.
So I return to my palace
open up the treasury of gold
give away my possessions,
that I earned with my sword.
Only when I lose all my jewels,
the last piece of Sovereign dispersed
then I descend to the level You stand,
among the indigent, the poorest,
the destitute.
You painted ink on paper in style
more like flutter of butterfly wings
with an in-tray full of pink envelopes
(yes, it was always pink);
I suppose it was a girlie thing.
Writing letters was easy,
(eye-contact embarrassing)
your pleasure was explaining
(though unnecessary)
without interruptions.
Guess what! I had gut feelings,
knew it was coming
it smoothed my pain.
You shifted like a caged bird,
hanging by the beaks to the door
hoping someone would open it
for you from outside.
Inside, the solid gold ring
was fixed to the latch,
and outside - freedom
just nothing but open sky.
No one opened the door,
you wished and wished
till the door fell apart.
Then you wrote me the letter
(again, needed no explaination!)
in it I sensed freedom.