Mark Hurlin-Shelton Zambia 2013
I have awoken with
dreamy eyes In too many unfamiliar places
On warm exotic beaches - in inexpensive inner city beds
Invariably i awoke alone - sometimes to birdsong or the muezzin’s prayer
In bangkok, cairo, london, or marrakesh In copenhagen,casa blanca ,paris Or prague,
Usually In search of some extraordinary adventure to delight my restless heart.
And i have found that dogs sleep lazily in doorways and wag their tails identically in all these places
That the madness of love, money power and need- in every domain -Its all the same
I have observed how children throw tantrums in supermarkets in the very same manner
in every culture, language and religion
And some days a smile or kind word could make the sun come out,
In my brooding heart, with equal efficiency
whether beamed from an Egyptian, Hindustani, Czech,or Thai.
I have travelled too far , too long ,down these many roads,
that all led me away from Yet strangely back -to the memory of a broken house.
Yet still, man is man and i am me and wine and money freely flow
girls blush, boys bully, Promises are whispered and hearts break
On warm exotic beaches - in inexpensive inner city beds
Invariably i awoke alone - sometimes to birdsong or the muezzin’s prayer
In bangkok, cairo, london, or marrakesh In copenhagen,casa blanca ,paris Or prague,
Usually In search of some extraordinary adventure to delight my restless heart.
And i have found that dogs sleep lazily in doorways and wag their tails identically in all these places
That the madness of love, money power and need- in every domain -Its all the same
I have observed how children throw tantrums in supermarkets in the very same manner
in every culture, language and religion
And some days a smile or kind word could make the sun come out,
In my brooding heart, with equal efficiency
whether beamed from an Egyptian, Hindustani, Czech,or Thai.
I have travelled too far , too long ,down these many roads,
that all led me away from Yet strangely back -to the memory of a broken house.
Yet still, man is man and i am me and wine and money freely flow
girls blush, boys bully, Promises are whispered and hearts break
Young Boys, from east
to west In bethlehem or tel-aviv
play with their toy guns And little girls their dolls and skipping ropes
And the plea for love In the hungry eyes, of solitary faces
in a hundred thousand doorways
all share one language. Its human And its mine.
play with their toy guns And little girls their dolls and skipping ropes
And the plea for love In the hungry eyes, of solitary faces
in a hundred thousand doorways
all share one language. Its human And its mine.
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