Wildalone*, I'm-
age harbouring a restless soul, uprooted
and haunted by this
intrinsic longing to be on the move
in chase of an archaic self-
reinventing ever illusionary horizon
somewhere else, obscure
like an emerald frosted century-
old heart-shaped sea-glass
relentlessly pounded by time and elements
glinting now at my weary feet
at the water's edge of Cabo Fisterra
believed once to be the End of the World
astounding, evermore unsettled
the mere proposition of a dream
distance destiny merging
someday, someplace

*Wildalone, самодива [samodiva]

_ _ _

“Now more than ever do I realize that I will never be content with a sedentary life, 
that I will always be haunted by thoughts of a sun-drenched elsewhere.” 

― Isabelle Eberhardt, The Nomad: The Diaries of Isabelle Eberhardt