love 8

Did you ask St Christopher to protect you,
As you journeyed far and wide

Until you were cured of wanderlust
That feeling that you belong wherever

The horizon carves with her palms
A mine shaft, where you strike gold,

Midas’s ore that makes you feel part of the land
Like natives for a stay of a few weeks,

When you globetrot to all corners
To all that is worth seeing and experiencing,

While tunneling away at memory,
Like a botanical name of a plant,

You have just encountered, whose flowers
Give you a glimpse of providence,

Learning that this is all God’s land,
Michigan or American Samoa,

And you’re just a walking specimen,
Collecting selfies and nature shots,

That makes face value, just as it sounds,
Like your smile speaking a thousand words,

In every possible human tongue.

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