An Ode to Sonati

This poem needs a name.  I wrote it on the back of a spare piece of paper while crammed into a microbus with 17 Nicos, Catratchos, y Guanacos. (Nicaraguans, Hondurans, El Salvadorians for you gringo-types)  It was inspired by my time in a little hostel called Sonati in Leon, Nicaragua – a truly amazing place, a nexus of artists, adventurers, storytellers, at least one idiot. (guess who)  There’s also a dog named Uli (oo-lie) who will steal your heart, guaranteed.  If you’re in the area, stop on by, and while you’re here, you might as well read this poem and tell me what you think.  Enjoy -k

The best part of traveling lies in the meetings.
New people, new places, new friends in new places.
So easy to fall for this siren’s song dream,
think we’ll all remain friends despite distance between.
Obscene almost, isn’t it?  How easy to trust.
With the other road-souls it feels almost a must.
In our brief time together I must give you my all –
though it may bring us misery, cause one or both to fall.
For what else is there really?  What else can I do,
if I want you to know me, and want to know you?
Fully honest and open seems the only true way –
either pull you in closer or drive you away.
The ones who keep distance were never for me,
but if you’re open back then we’re friends – meant to be.
And why shouldn’t we, anyway, treat each other as cousins?
We’re all of the earth, share the same common mother.
Since you’re of like mind, then I’m sure you’ll agree –
Tell me your stories, share your secrets with me.
We’ll trade back and forth, share the few things we know,
watch lightning on the roof as we feel the wind blow.
Waves of soft moonlight, warm tropical rain,
by night’s end we’re different, but the world’s stayed the same.
I want to collapse in a cool fluffy bed,
fall asleep entertwined, kiss the back of your head.
But I can’t! – fucking tragedy – for I’ve places to be.
Never thought I’d get someone like you to like me.
So we say warm goodbyes, always promise to write,
then you go off to bed as I slip into the night.
And as love is a duel, we both turn about-faces,
cast last longing looks, motionless at 10 paces.
I smile and wink, and you laugh with your eyes,
then I shoulder my pack – long slow walk into sunrise.

Full disclosure – the first line I stole from something Veronique wrote me, the last part is inspired by Kerouac’s The Mexican Girl.