A silence of mind
and vinegar wine,
the shopping precinct
a disembowelled mine.

Bombs stain the mountains
to build a hotel,
for tourists to buy
a wish from the well.

A wish for comfort
and one for new love,
in marital bliss
and skyscapes above.

Escape from their God
of tablets and time,
of substitute taste
for tonic and lime.

Escape from their want
of waistlines and faith,
relief from the haunt
of some childhood wraith.

Travel sets its price
to find your own face,
to find there's no cost,
in finding your place.