THE PILGRIM

He holds a rucksack in one hand
as if it’s an inconvenience,
something he wishes to be rid of.
He leans against a wall,
just another visitor, another passer through.
His footsteps don’t linger there
no imprint is made
to say that he was there.
He is just passing through –
another wanderer,
searching for something.

PILGRIMS

They returned to the site,
still the same after all these years.
No one else would know they were pilgrims
for they wore tatty shorts and t-shirts, clutched
backpacks and sun hats,
and looked like any other tourist
that passed through. But for them
it was something else – this pilgrimage
that they had made, back, into the past,
a time that had long passed
even if the place still remained
seemingly untouched.