A Gypsy without a caravan is often like

A violinist without a bow

Mine has now become a

Mossy, storage shed on wheels

Yet the tires are pumped and road-ready

It makes me feel safe

How I envy turtles

Imitate them with my backpacks

But humans need facilities

We need reasonable comfort

Safety, most of all

I no longer like to drive

So my caravan sits

Plunk, plunk the strings

It needs a bow

To create the music of movement

Escape to another realm

Not happening now

But it will, I vow…


© 2015 ViataMaja, Poezija



“I have always depended

On the kindness of strangers”

Says I, Blanche DuBois-ing*

Through a life where I

Just can’t settle down so I

Just sell my soul

For a sheltering roof

Either to the men I’ve married

(Legally, handfastedly)

Who remain strangers despite

Decades together

Or to dwindling friends

No home of my own

No vitsa—tribe—like

My Romani ancestors

Just moving through life

Seemingly independent yet

Incapable of ownership

Searching for elusive roots

My beloved trees

Are free to possess…


(c) 2015 ViataMaja


*Quote from Tennessee Williams’ A Streetcar Named Desire