deepundergroundpoetry.com
Gypsy Feeling
Born and bred in the forlorn bled
I've seen fake,the truth never said
The town i've fled, Nature instead
Gypsy in the blood, little i am fed
I live quite on the margin, self-satisfied
I have mountains, and the pastures wide
A shepherds' friend, the herd by my side
A friend of words and the world in mind
i've learnt to smile in my enemies' faces
I've learned to stand in the saddest cases
The wisdom i gained from the lives taken
Deepened by death, so not to be mistaken
I love the books, read not written
And the dusty pathways most beaten
The flat lands never been trodden
Clean; the morning grass dew-sodden
There is birth in the early rise
There is death when the mind dies
And wise is he who still meditates
'Pon any truth seeking nerver awaits
Happiness is only for carelessness
Awareness, is the very painful sadness
Were i never born with the Alphabets
A peasant would be happier in the fields
Bled- French word for a lost place
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