The old man is a fool
he thinks the world starts and ends
within the lines of his palms
sometimes he watches the winter snow and tries
to read stories in the dimming lights
tries to find words and meanings in the scars on his body
it is odd how he sits on the swing in his garden, his mind
barely holding onto the reins of his crazed legs
and dreaming of the day he might make a great push
and hold onto the tails of the wind
and leave for someplace else.
Sometimes the old man
makes up fierce creatures and fanciful love stories
far-off lands and forlorn princesses
imprisoned in prisons he creates with precise care
while his shaking hands drop things
with an imprecise, awkward nimbleness.
he sometimes thinks of writing something of his life down,
and the next moment he tries remembering what day it is
the day he undertakes this great Labour.
often he just sleeps, and shivers in nightmares.
The old man wanders off to all the places he has been
milestones he gathers and places a little inaccurately
geography and history, and memory engage in a confused dance,
and kisses forsaken, and promises forgotten
and walks taken down gravelly paths
and lifetimes spent by riversides wondering how he…they would grow old together…
mix up his present
and make him see things that shouldn’t be there.
But more than that, the old man thinks of the world, and the worlds
beyond the lines of his palm
beyond the scars on his chest
beyond the somewhat laborious stories he thinks he might write
and wonders if the things he sees,and the promises he makes, and the lifetimes he spends there
P.S : Fernweh: A German word roughly meaning being home-sick for a place you have (they say) never been to.