Oh, how long; how long must I belong?
The day the bird shall speak no more.
For I, for I, must travel long.
The sweet amber color of the tree,
and the temper blue of the sky,
they say, speak.
Speak, for I await for thee.
Must I travel long?
For I have labored here,
and shall await till dusk
and be no more.
Moon and Sun, they do await,
though fools and kings stay below,
and thus the sky will open up its doors
to the majestic unknown world.
Below and low,
thieves and trickers and merchants go,
though they rise above the sky
with purple robes.
They tremble and think and go,
today in sorrow,
tomorrow in love.
He shall whistle the song above,
for the king awaits,
high and low.
A traveler, a traveler,
for he must always go.
A poem by,
— S. I. Guzman
Tag: belonging
Cosmic Wanderer’s Reflection
For I remember… I am not from this planet. My planet? Your planet, and the Cosmos. I would like to see other worlds now that I am here. Impossible— for I can only travel within my mind. As I lay down to speak with the mystery man who, with arrogance, wit, and terrible odor, said: Behold! Behold, thy earthing. Your name? No name— just shadows and wind. Bluffing buffoon, neither here nor there, thou hast cast thy spells; yet I vibe with Earth. Now think, as I stare into your eyes and offer pity, or perhaps treasures to pursue. I remember when thou begged from here, as you stared upon my abode; you did not flinch, nor blink an eye. I admired thy courage, thy fearless spirit— for I gave it. What of Earth? What of it? For I do not dwell in silence here. I dream of it. I dream of all that is there. What is there? The Cosmos, the Cosmos, the Cosmos— the place to which I belong. A poem by S. I. Guzman