pauper poets and wandering bards

all those poets

going around as vagrants

begging or just settling here and there
in an acquitance's home

to enjoy hospitality

(let's forget the occasional theft)

leaving poems behind them

scribbling fictions in notebooks

about the landscapes

experiences

because that's art

the erasion of what is

replaced with what should be

one face of it, art

zig-zagging around countries

through the centuries

restless

to be called sages

dozing off under trees

bridges

in railway cars

in river boats

as the rain hammered

and civilisations

were lights being turned off

sleeping away

drunken

with words

falling scattered leaves

snowflakes

in the soil where we seek

their footprints

28.03.2015