The home of a traveler
Is not really a home,
But more of a way of life.
The home can be furnished nicely
With a chipper mood and a broad smile.
The furniture is all in place
Like well thought out plans and ideas,
A map of sorts.
A traveler's disposition is his decoration.
"What a lovely rug you have."
"These curtains are divine."
"Is this lamp an antique?"
Each article making up a different
Relic of happiness.
A warm ambience floods the room
Like liqiud gold,
Staining the walls with riches
Of memories and past travels.
But a sad traveler has a house as well.
The house is shaken at the foundation
With cracked floorboards
And broken windows.
Cigarette bums are burned into
The coffee table, where no coffe is served.
The upholstry is worn and stained,
But it shows characters of past happiness.
What happiness has been lost?
The map has gone astray.
The traveler's room once too
Was flooded with gold,
Horsd'oeuvres, and bourgeois parties.
The sad fact of the matter is
Youth is a happy traveler,
And death is a travel's end.