When no passports where needed,
When one could roam the earth freely,
When the seas were open, and the mountains also.
When the road one took, lead to unknown places,
To places where you were received by poets,
And where a cup of tea was freely given
Along with the chants of the birds.
When journeys took decades
And meeting new people took a smile.
A time when languages were easily learned
And generosity was always there.
When the kindness of the spirit,
Busy markets and carefully crafted gardens
As the passing of caravanserais.
When the road was itself the journey
And the only identification to be shown
Was your kindheartedness, patience
And hunger for knowledge.
When one could seat for hours
Talk spirituality and nonsense
Under the shade of a century old maple tree,
Instead of waiting in line for a visa.
I should have been born at other times,
Maybe my inspiration would have been real,
Just like the dust that all travelers leave on their path.
These days, there is no dust. Only carpeted airports.