this is my own, my native land

wandering wandering
ever pondering sometimes fanciful
sometimes futile ends

notions of love, of beauty
imbue these steps with eagerness
and mighty imaginings

striving swiftly to discover
thriving under the cover of need
only to sit again in ignorance

because when all is said
and done, the wonders of it all
pall beneath the shround of why

you see, belonging has eluded me
drawing me on and on
to weary peaks of unknowing

i have prayed to silent gods
genuflected in the finest mosques
meditated on hallowed grounds

i have greeted numerous strangers
in various languages, smiling
at my own meager advances

and then turned away at last
knowing again that this is not
where i may rest my soul

but i do know this at least
that in habit, in name, in tongue
it is this i who defines me

wherever my steps may carry me
whatever duties i may fulfill
alba, my soul resides in you

found while wandering through a close in Edinburgh