Drunk with beauty,
Wearing an old ache in my heart
I have traveled the world.
I might be fifty, I might be fifteen,
But I have scanned the stars in foreign lands,
And heard the wind’s voice in strange woods;
I have no home.
There’s tomorrow waiting and a little house.
But I have felt the rains open up on me
Unrestrained, never holding back;
My soul has grown moss-fed in the rains.
I have given my heart to the road.
What do I want?
I seek the lyrical curves of the wide road.
It was bliss to stay awake on cold nights
To watch how the new day slowly breaks.
Be young forever, my roving dreams.
Do not run out on me, untraveled road.
Weary of the world,
An exile from the tired towns
I have come now to autumn in these woods.
The leaves are falling on quiet roads
Like sheets of paper tossed by wild students.
I must write of these things. You write to me.
Diptesh Ghosh
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 9:22 AM UTC
Drunk with beauty,
Wearing an old ache in my heart
I have traveled the world.
I might be fifty, I might be fifteen,
But I have scanned the stars in foreign lands,
And heard the wind’s voice in strange woods;
I have no home.
There’s tomorrow waiting and a little house.
But I have felt the rains open up on me
Unrestrained, never holding back;
My soul has grown moss-fed in the rains.
I have given my heart to the road.
What do I want?
I seek the lyrical curves of the wide road.
It was bliss to stay awake on cold nights
To watch how the new day slowly breaks.
Be young forever, my roving dreams.
Do not run out on me, untraveled road.
Weary of the world,
An exile from the tired towns
I have come now to autumn in these woods.
The leaves are falling on quiet roads
Like sheets of paper tossed by wild students.
I must write of these things. You write to me.
Diptesh Ghosh
