Sweet stranger
Nomad, I called him
One who carries a promise
In his pocket
Sweet stranger, he is
Nomad, Nomad
One who carries a backpack
His beard unshaven
And sparkles in his eyes
He is my sweet Nomad
A promise is written
Nothing sweet, nothing bitter
Just a promise as it seems
He, my Nomad will flee
Away from this island, from me
Never a goodbye to tell me
For I won’t mind
to have illusion around
It’s weird how you could miss some stranger. I wrote this poem for a Nomad that I barely know. Something about him that draws my attention. I can’t tell what or why.
It’s weird. Really weird. It’s too weird.
I don’t even know much about him. But I chose to grasp each moment, each smile he gave me. Sweet, I know. Dangerous, maybe.. maybe not. But it’s definitely not something that I could call “fun”. It’s too complicated, artistic and fragile to call it so.
No need to worry, Nomad. This is not a complaint, as I recall. Nor a love letter. This is just a simple writing about you.
