If opportunity doesn’t knock. Build a door.
Milton Birle
Oh! Travelling tourists in my country
That have toured my city in groups of four
So saw sites spied by my sight seeing eyes
Whilst searching for a place with no danger
But leisurely looking for an adventure.
Many a time i’ve watched you walk around
On ground already treaded on by my feet
With your big black backpack strapped to your back
Following in the footsteps of your guide
So as to arrive – safely to your ride.
Oh! Travelling tourists in my city
Whom I’ve never spied with frown on your face
Even at times when you were looking down-
At the map in your hands for you were lost.
Many a time I’ve walked past you in town
Speaking a language that’s foreign to my tongue
Sometimes Spanish and even Portuguese
So i could not talk to you in English
To find out whether you like the weather
And whether you have a clue that i’m
Also a tourist in my own country?
© 2020 Lazarus Shatipamba
find more of my poetry here
Go Dog Go Café 
Love the last line! I feel this way manytimes in my own city!
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birds of a feather we are,u and i. but it’s funny coz there was a time i had no pride in my country whatsoever and would have given my left hand just for the prospect of leaving it behind. but know, i’d still love to leave and tour other countries, but i’m not in a hurry to do so anymore.
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