Thursday, September 25, 2008
You won't find a new country, won't find another shore.
This city will always pursue you.
You'll walk the same streets, grow old
in the same neighborhoods, turn gray in these same houses.
You'll always end up in this city. Don't hope for things elsewhere:
there's no ship for you, there's no road.
Translated by Edmund Keeley & Philip Sherrard
Note: Quoting out of context, I know. The poem in full here.