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Sharon Talbot Mar 2021
Where do people go
When they are dispossessed?
When the home they know
Is no longer seen as theirs,
When their beds are tossed out,
And those boxes beneath the stairs
Regarded as trash by the soulless ****
Whose only motive is greed?
I have seen images of them in a group,
Walking down a road to nowhere,
Or out on desert sand, wandering.
Where can they go and not be harassed
By owners with no sympathy?
What boat will carry them to another shore
Where they are met with friendship
And not seen as enemies?
How strange and terrible to see them,
All walking in the same way,
Heads down and shoulders bent,
Many carrying a child
Or remnants of a home enfolded.
When they reach borders,
They are stopped and questioned,
Crowded, as are sheep in a pen.
So many are turned away
And some, desperate they become,
Board small boats with promises
To take them to freedom,
Only to founder and sink,
So that the sea becomes
Their last, dark home.
Others consider themselves lucky
To find a tent or metal van
Which they must take away
From those with property,
And keep moving, herded
Like those same sheep,
Yet now almost wild,
Huddling together with strangers
Near a fire in vast and empty lands
That play slow and vivid sunsets
To soothe the rootless host?
They tell each other stories
Of their home or hard journeys,
Give counsel to evade the dogs
That prey on those who wander.
And on those nights in endless lands,
And a dome not veiled by earthly light,
But dazzling the wanderers
With millions of shimmering stars,
That sends dreams of others gone astray
And they lament their fate as their own,
As unknown brothers and sisters,
Who, bewildered, weep for them as well.
This built on itself from a worry about where the people go when they are old or lose their homes. I then had images of people in a similar dilemma, at borders, such as the U.S./Mexico one, or refugees in the Middle East, or those made "nomads" by economic collapse and the decision to live in tents or vans, out under the sky--free but vulnerable. Also, some of this was inspired by "Nomadland".
her mind wandered
as she sat
mind wandering
as her body
should be
thinking of
what she shouldn't
her body was
she had
what they call
if her body
wasn't moving
then her mind
Mayank Jha Jul 2020
We are nothing but aimless ships.
We know no destination
In this world of imagination.
We are wanderers
Roaming this beautiful plane.
Exploring things while feeling the rain.
Trying to find peace
Our actions, causing a crease
In time itself.
We need to think big
And break out of this small vase.
Dare to do things no one would
Believe in yourself because you should.
Have faith in your existence
And fight with all you have
Against your own resistance.
Come with me
Let's jump across
Come with me
make a pattern that's beautiful
Be brave and fulfill your role.
But I know it will take a toll
On your mind and body.
But that's not a very big price
To pay for a life that's full of joy
So lets rejoice and run ahead.
And you won't regret
The price you paid.
Showunmi samson Jan 2020
We are wanderers,
not by choice,
nor by right,
nor by crimes,
but by fate.

We are wanderers,
living in;
a shell,
a roof,
a sky,
a cloud,
and a soul.

We are Wanderers seeking to keep fit and survive.
We are Wanderers of the earth.
We are all wanderers.
M Solav Sep 2018
There are clouds of sound and noise
That utter thoughts in a muffled voice,
Gestures of hands simply won’t cast out
Cloudy skies in days of doubt.

Like strangers lost in a crowd
Whose cries are buried by the loud,
The loud din of helpless wanderers
Whose presence disrupts and disturbs.

All strangers left on their own,
Islands floating out in the fog;
Orphans with cruel fates to bemoan;
Fates that are swept under the rug.

And who's looking with interest, who reaches down with an arm,
Never so eager to help, neither too late nor too soon?
Who would make this world perhaps a little more warm
And freshen the skies of our cloudy afternoon?
Written in December 2017.

— Copyright © M. Solav —
This work may not be used in entirety or in part without the prior approval of its author. Please contact for usage requests. Thank you.
Viany Aug 2017
We're all broken pieces...walking puzzles...
Looking for the right fix
Looking for the right fit
Ariel Aug 2016
All my friends are heathens.

We live in sin, we die to spend,

the gold…

Were hopeless, were homeless,

Wandering the roads.

All my friends are heathens

Slaved by gold.

We're gutlessness, were soulless

Filled with woe.

There good men, were bad men.

Filled with greed.

Acknowledge the sin that Lies in me.
Inspired by Falloutboys Heathens suicide squad.
Liam C Calhoun Jul 2016
I’d imagined her in the fields of
Tea; one, “she,” with hair born ink,
Perfectly-lined pearls,
A soon to be smile,
Wells for eyes, lost,
So very starved to be saved
And a'tic-tac-toe
Scarred the earth upon back,
So mimicked the sun.
So clucked the tribulation.

We, and after, “we,”
******. We trust
And two necks rocked backward
Under an unrelenting moon,
Could become, “we,”
With an already, “she,” and now the

“He,” a'wander before stars -
A wish and the only she’d wanted,
By name of, “touch;”
So one, the sun scorched rice,
And second, red stained the field,
And so on, the son missed home,
And once more, one son stood ground
And another sun held his hand,
So built, this newer home
Come allowed and growing old;

Brent Kincaid May 2016
There are people somewhere
Almost no one knows about
There are girls and women boys and men
Gone beyond the places people care about
And, no one ever sees them again.
They laugh and love and work and share their daily bread
And, live within the fruits of the soil
Smiling at the treasures only found
In the efforts of the ones who toil.

And nobody sings their anthem
Nobody paves their way;
Trees and rocks are neighbors for
The ones who went away.
The ones who went away,
Oh, oh, oh, oh.
The ones who went away.

Somewhere smoke is curling from a handmade home
Someone sits adrift in a song
Tapping toes to rhythms of a timeless beat
And sometimes laughing loud and strong.
Someone no one knows about will sleep tonight
Content with what was done today.
Smiling with a face that seems to say
They wouldn’t have it any other way.

And nobody sings their anthem
Nobody paves their way;
Trees and rocks are neighbors for
The ones who went away.
The ones who went away,
Oh, oh, oh, oh.
The ones who went away.
These lyrics were written about 1972 from some experiences I had living in my car.
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