PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

It was long and tiring,

it seemed like i was travelling for a month, when not even a day went by,

her country was so much like mine,

the streets were crowded, the markets were noisy,

the people were so many, the roads were covered with dirt and dust,

the taxi moved as if it didn't know where to go,

it was at the mercy of the travellers,

as if waiting for permission to move,

and the minutes went by,

looking like hours.



Her town was a colour i never knew places could have,

it was pale orange, with a touch of red,

it was as if salmons swam by the houses, through the dirt , through the people ,

her house was at the end,

i rang the bell.



She was beautiful,

girls in her place cover their heads in front of men, and so did she,

she smiled at the same time i did,

we knew we were never far apart,

it always seemed like that every night when we talked,

my journey only told me that,

i then knew, i travelled so far only to get to my country,

since that is the way i felt,

i felt back to where i belong,

to those pale orange houses, and small dirty roads,

to that unknown town, but known very well known to me,

where i lived for so long.