The Journey Home
Wilfredo J. Baez
I never thought that it was important to ponder, plan and plot.
I never secured a map nor thought to obtain a compass.
I never hired a captain to lead me along the far-reaching pathways.
Nor have I thought it advantageous to understand the placement of the stars.
I’ve never learned to steer a ship or to navigate rushing waters.
I’ve always been a runaway and a stowaway upon someone else’s ship.
And so I have arrived in ports whose customs I have not comprehended
And whose languages have left me muttering my dissatisfaction,
“This is not the place of my dreams,” however unconscious I have been of them.
And so today I wonder, how shall I recall my sleeping visions?
How shall I interpret the strange symbols that silently search me?
What is the right map, the right destination and the right direction?
Do I already have the right map and only need to unfold and read it?
Do I already come equipped with a compass that is pointed north?
Who will guide me to that place where dreams become conscious and realized?
How will I know, when will I know, when will I leave and when will I get there?
The question arises from deep within me and already knows its answer.
“There is no place like home, there is no place like home, there is no place like home.