“Nostalgia
in reverse, the longing for yet another strange land, grew especially strong in
spring.”
― Vladimir Nabokov, Mary
Nomad in house, homeless to leave
Pack the childhood, lock that love
A town unknown, a scheduled flight
Platonic nameplate, bin to hide
A new land to chase let go off the chain
Lunatic on fire, in scrutiny of peace
Water to death, snake to fear
Oh my love, am I still here?
Look professor, something is still happening
Love to cherries, root to beat
Do you see the rope in the street?
Bah, I am no mad, a new retreat,
Fancy the peace?
Aah, I am nomad.
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