The Wanderer

The Wanderer

He left the letters unopened

He had a feeling
That the envelopes
had ultraviolet eyes

that circled him like a clever tiger

Somehow
He drilled a hole in the floor
and spoke
To the ghost
of a bedouin prophet

He awaited answers

But answers were always written
in the language of the rivers

A boat that day
had sunk in the river
with saplings of rose

What colour were the roses?

He tried not looking
at the tiger

but the envelopes
were unsealing themselves

He felt the kisses
of dancers and poets
in his hair

He looked
into the faces
of grinning ghosts

deep among the burning leaves

He saw the warning
in the unopened letters

He left,
looking for the girl
of the rivers

who was searching for roses
that fell from the boat

desert
hill
forest

he saw the landscapes melt
in the baul's song

but utraviolet eyes
still followed him like a curse

He wondered
if he was becoming a false currency

poets and dancers
fell
from his wet hair
upon the winter bylanes

Somewhere the hawk was scared
of the skies

somewhere he remembered
a home
that never was

Girl of the rivers,
what is your anger?
and where are the roses?

Now he could sit
with the hummingbirds
somewhere

and maybe open the letters.