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Life of a Nomad
by Kourosh Taheri-GolvarziI have no food nor beaten roof
and sunshine gushing down
will not impede my camel's hoof
and so we pace together, town from town.
From foreign villagers, I heard
of "weeks" with seven days.
I still don't understand these things.
The Sun and Earth are past our artificial time
and timing them is so absurd.
My path is lit by lovely lunar rings
and I move by my word.
My life is free and so am I.
I like it just that way
for midnight never fails to try
to introduce tomorrow and today. 04/07/2005 Author's Note: Should be fairly self-explanatory. Hope you enjoy!
Posted on 04/08/2005
Copyright © 2024 Kourosh Taheri-Golvarzi
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Timothy Somers on 04/09/05 at 01:42 PM I like this. An apparent departure from your anger, with the fire still present. Nice observation and motivation easily seen. Personally, I might have just called it Nomad. The life’s evident. |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 04/14/05 at 06:18 PM I definitely get the feel of Bedoin (sp?) lifestyle from your words. Great flow too. Glad I got to read this. |
| Posted by Mara Meade on 07/17/05 at 09:46 PM The life of a kuchi has always mesmerized me. This is an incredible desciption and makes me long for the freedom I saw when watching caravans travel, in the Spring and Fall, in Afghanistan. The line about "weeks with seven days" is so mindful of how we like to arrange our lives instead of live them. Again... incredible. |
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