Pilgrimage of Love

By Astha

You are a gypsy soul,

As you claim.

I am a bohemian.

In my veins, flows Florence:

Her art, her Renaissance.

My eyes glitter

With Parisian lights.

I long to waltz

In the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles.

To walk upon

The cobblestone streets of Rome

Baby, not alone.

I want to take you

To Beatrice’s tomb,

Where poets, artists, and novelists go

To seek inspiration from their muse.

I want to take you

To Palazzo Medici Riccardi and La Duomo,

To see Botticelli’s grace

At the Uffizi Gallery.

I want to take you

To Athens - the cradle of democracy

Where Pericles once preached,

And to the Pharaohs’ Valley of Kings,

Where Tutankhamun sleeps in eternity.

Take my hand

To Byzantium,

That meeting place

Of East and West.

To New York City and New Orleans,

We might reside on the Upper East Side

For a day,

Then say goodbye,

To chase another sunrise.

Perhaps to Petra or Mexico,

Or the canals of Venice,

Where Portia saved Antonio.

You may be the Gentleman of Verona,

And I, a modern Juliet,

Recreating the balcony scene.

To ask,

Where was Romeo last night?

Then, to the English countryside,

To rest upon

The cold stones of Stonehenge.

I could be Tess,

And you, perhaps, Darcy.

Next stop - the Scottish Hebrides.

From grapevines beneath the Tuscan sun

To the Northern skies of the Aurora,

Scandinavian dreams begun.

And the list, my love,

Can go on and on…

By Astha