Keeping Track (Poetry)

I have kept to the road pretty much
all my life on the same beaten track —
that road looping long on the map
and too quiet — seldom dangerous as such.

I’m too old now and frail for a trek
through the mountains — some glacial pass —
my goat-footed years didn’t last
and age is a hump on my back.

There lingers an urge to explore —
go off for a roam through the bush
to the ends of the wild Hindu Kush —
to wander at will and ignore

the safe routes — the ones with few risks
all frequently travelled as mine —
where milestones point onwards — no sign
of those dark winding turnings I missed.