Lost Places
Some of us find the world
in the places where we are born.
Some of us can find no place there at all
except in retrospect.
We write books about these lost places
as though we knew what they were all about;
as though just by living there, we understood that place.
Actually, by writing about them we visit them again
and feel as much a stranger as we did before.
That is how we can stand to write about them.
They become the exotic other lands we’ve traveled to.
Misfortune becomes the best part of the story;
and we, at last, are grateful for it.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 
Oh how true this is. A beautiful poem Judy
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Sadje.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Most welcome 🤗
LikeLike
Lovely poem!
LikeLike
I was thinking yesterday that to the people around me, I am here. To myself? I’m not except out in nature except with a very few people. I don’t know what’s up with that. I know how to BE here, no problem, I feel I am an echo of a former life that I knew well and I can’t explain that, either.
LikeLike
Sad and true. A very wise friend (may he rest in peace) years ago said to me, “You are not nostalgic about Odessa, you are nostalgic about our youth in Odessa.”
LikeLike