Where Do They Go

This poem was inspired by the photograph titled, 'Running Legs,' by Lisette Model. I was an experienced hiker, who had rambled down many famous trails, Like earth's charming, 365 day tales, of its seasonal, sightseeing avails. I'd trekked routes in Australia and Tanzania, and also numerous others, Like a deep purple mist is fading, to dispel a normalcy which smothers. As I walked the endless vacation miles, I had abundant time to ponder, Like the sun, spending its gold everywhere, owning plenty to squander. My family and friends were understanding, as many of them hiked, too, And walked the ponderous miles with me, beneath serene skies of blue. I lived in the house of fragrant roses, surrounded on every pretty side, Succumbing to endless golden moments, whereas an escape is denied. Neighbors would tap upon my windowpane, ever eager for a chit chat, Like wild winds waltzing into August, always yearning for a comeback! The blazing sun had finally melted, and dazzling beams fell as he went, As mayflies fill lifetimes into one day, before the precious time is spent. Dragonflies flitted reedy marshes, and joyous life was in yon meadow, For all of nature tends to be glad, in still hours, when days turn mellow. Azure sky had fallen into aqua sea, and the waves were heard to roar, Until, as often, is the exceptional case, time forgets what went before. One day, while in bustling New York, I happened to visit an art gallery. I came upon a photograph titled, 'Running Legs', of people in a hurry. The memorable photo fascinated me. Where were all the people going, Their varied lives clashing briefly, like rain when the sun's still showing? It got me noting different crowds, and imagining what made them run. Was it shopping, charity, solemn obligations, or new careers just begun? I gave the topic a great deal of thought, as I trekked the emerald lanes, As satin moon ponders all the night, while pressing at my windowpanes. I whiled away scarlet hours, wondering what makes strangers strange. Could it be their cool remoteness, or the lack of prolonged interchange? I recalled that mine has also been, a face in busy crowds, luring gazes, While I followed my varied joys and concerns, in the hectic city spaces. I finally inferred the mysterious dashers, must be people much like me, But perceiving life rather differently, like the mountains and roaring sea. The runners could appear from all walks of life, chasing gold sunbeams, And heeding an insistent inner voice, urging to follow your rosy dreams!