hindi poems travel

Everything Candid

A candid travel & photo blog.

Travel Poem – Hindi – चलते चलो

(राजस्थान में रोड ट्रिप के दिनों की यादों को समर्पित – A Hindi Travel Poem Dedicated To My Self Drive Road Trip in Rajasthan.)

The poem is inspired by my road trip across Rajasthan from Delhi when we went to the far off places in Thar Desert.

This is an attempt to write in Hindi about everything and anything, primarily on life, love for life and traveling life. Hindi, being my mother tongue, comes natural to me and in last many decades, I have written a lot of prose and poems in Hindi. So, in this window named Safgoi (साफ़गोई), which means – straight talk or candid talk , I will write in Hindi as Himanshu Chahunaur (हिमांशु “चहुंओर”), which means Himanshu – All Around, signifying my perpetual quest to seek from all around, which is logical to the traveling soul that resides in me.

Do share your thoughts on the poem. Feeling blessed!!

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Beautiful Hindi Poems

This section includes the poems that I have written in the Hindi Language (my mother tongue). Though English is the main language that we speak and write in. We should not forget our mother tongue as well. It makes us closer to our roots and who we are. Right? Let’s read some beautiful Hindi poems I am sure you agree with me. Brushing up one’s mother tongue hindi is always good via poems. So why not, Hindi ke kavita? Coronavirus ke quarantine lockdown mein toh aap bi kahoge, wah wah wah! How about having small children learn about beautiful hindi poems?

Band Ghar aur Rang

Ek soch hai jo mujhe satarahi,

Magar main apne dimag se nikal nahi paa rahi,

Duniya hai quarantine ke khoj mein Magna,

Main hoon apne kamre mein dhoondh rahi her rang.

Prakrati, jee le apni zindagi

Log kehte hai ki dharti maa ubhar rahi,

Pedh, paudhe, jharne, pashu, pakshiyan,

Sab mana rahe jee bhar ke khusiyan,

Par kisine yeh socha tha ki isse pehle,

Unke jeevan mein kaunsi samasya aan padi?

Ek bhatakta saaya

Ek tha raat ko khushnuma saaya,

Bhaagte bhaagte koi usse pakad na paaya,

Kabhi uparse kabhi neeche se dekhta mujhe,

Achai tumhari dekhke woh nai khayega tujhe.

Tum na bhatko der raat,

Woh apne aap ko hi de sakta maat,

Woh saaya jo dost bana hai tumhara,

Madad karo uski jo kare na tumpe war.

Saath Raho, Ek Raho

Kuch bol tum bi buno,

Ho sake toh tum meri bi suno,

Saath hai hum sab ghumne ke liye tyaar,

Khade honge ek saath jaise lakdi ka ek dhaar.

Also read: The Moon and the Sun – Fashionable Travel Journal by Naina (travfashjourno.com)

यात्रा पर कविताएँ

• यात्रा वृत्तांत 21
• रिपोर्ताज़ 1

अंतिम ऊँचाई

कुँवर नारायण, जो मेरे घर कभी नहीं आएँगे, विनोद कुमार शुक्ल, अगर हमने तय किया होता कि हम नहीं जाएँगे, देवी प्रसाद मिश्र, ट्राम में एक याद, ज्ञानेंद्रपति, सफ़र के लिए एक पंक्ति, ज़रूर जाऊँगा कलकत्ता, जितेंद्र श्रीवास्तव, कुछ चीज़ें अब भी अच्छी हैं, पंकज चतुर्वेदी, उठ जाग मुसाफ़िर, वंशीधर शुक्ल, ओ मेरी मृत्यु, सुधांशु फ़िरदौस, मैं अंतर्मुखी होकर, पहले भी आया हूँ, तुम्हारे लिए एक और पंक्ति, 2020 में गाँव की ओर, विष्णु नागर, संदीप तिवारी, अबलक़ सपने, कुम्मैत घोड़ा, सुघोष मिश्र, कैलाश वाजपेयी, केदारनाथ सिंह, डेली पैसेंजर, उतना ही असमाप्त, पथ पर चलते रहो निरंतर, संजय चतुर्वेदी, मुझे क़दम-क़दम पर, गजानन माधव मुक्तिबोध, उनके तलुओं में दुनिया का मानचित्र है, प्रदीप सैनी, औरत की ज़रूरत, वैसे ही चलना दूभर था, मुकुट बिहारी सरोज, सात दिन का सफ़र, मंगलेश डबराल, नमक पर यक़ीन ठीक नहीं, नवीन रांगियाल, घुमक्कड़ लड़की, प्यासा आदमी, धरती का चक्कर, अर्चना लार्क, अभी मैं पहचानती हूँ तुम्हें, मेट्रो से दुनिया, निखिल आनंद गिरि, मैं जब तक आर्ई बाहर, नकोदर-होशियारपुर अप-डाऊन, मोनिका कुमार, अकेले ही नहीं, कृष्णमोहन झा, निधीश त्यागी, संबंधित विषय, join rekhta family.

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जश्न-ए-रेख़्ता (2023) उर्दू भाषा का सबसे बड़ा उत्सव।

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हिन्दवी डिक्शनरी

हिंदी क्षेत्र की भाषाओं-बोलियों का व्यापक शब्दकोश

यात्रा पर सुविचार व कविता travel quotes, poem in hindi

Travel quotes in hindi.

दोस्तों यात्रा करना वास्तव में एक बहुत ही सुखद अनुभव है यात्रा करने से हमें कई तरह के लाभ प्राप्त होते हैं।

हमे शारीरिक एवं मानसिक शांति भी हमें मिलती है हम जो भी अपना दैनिक कार्य करते हैं रोज रोज करने से कभी कभी हमें बोरियत भी होने लगती है लेकिन यात्रा करने से बोरियत कम हो जाती है वास्तव मे यात्रा करना किसी किसी के लिए बहुत ही सुखद अनुभव हो सकता है। घूमने फिरने से हमें प्राकृतिक दर्शन होते हैं साथ में कई संस्कृति, सभ्यता के बारे में भी हमें जानकारी मिलती हैं। कई जगह की यात्रा करने से हमें कई तरह का ज्ञान भी प्राप्त होता है आज हम यात्रा पर कुछ अनमोल विचार आपके लिए लाए हैं आप इन्हें जरूर पड़े तो चलिए पढ़ते हैं आज के इस आर्टिकल को

• यात्रा करना एक ऐसा अनुभव है जो वास्तव में बहुत ही सुखद होता है
• जीवन में यात्रा करने से मन को सुख शांति मिलती है शरीर स्वस्थ भी होता है एक जगह स्थिर रहने से तो पानी भी खराब हो जाता है
• छुट्टियों के दिनों में अगर कुछ सबसे अच्छा है तो वह यात्रा करना ही है
• किसी धार्मिक स्थान पर यात्रा करने के लिए जाने से हमें ज्ञान भी प्राप्त होता है और हम जीवन में काफी बदलाव महसूस भी करते हैं
• मेरी यात्रा का हर बार का सफर मेरे लिए काफी खुशहाल रहा
• यदि हम अपने पूरे परिवार के साथ कोई यात्रा करते हैं तो यात्रा का आनंद कई गुना हमें मिलता है
• आजकल की मोबाइल, इंटरनेट और कंप्यूटर के जमाने में लोग घर पर बैठे-बैठे ही देश दुनिया के लोगों से बातचीत करते हैं जिस वजह से कुछ लोगों को यात्रा करना पहले के मुकाबले कम ही पसंद है
• यात्रा करना कामकाजी लोगों के लिए काफी सुखद होता है क्योंकि वह अपने दैनिक कार्यों से छुट्टी लेकर जब परिवार के साथ यात्रा करते हैं तो उन्हें अच्छा एहसास होता है
• मिलजुलकर यात्रा पर जाने से रिश्ते काफी गहरे हो जाते हैं

poem on tourism in hindi

जीवन में हरएक खुशी का आनंद लीजिए

मिलजुल कर परिवार के साथ टूरिज्म का आनंद लीजिए

जीवन के हर एक गम को भूल जाइए

मोबाइल इंटरनेट की दुनिया से दूर आइए

मिलजुलकर यात्रा से खुशी बहुत मिलेगी

दुख दूर हो कर शांति बहुत मिलेगी

सांस्कृतिक इमारतों से संस्कृति और सभ्यता की सीख मिलेगी

जीवन में खुश रहने की एक वजह मिलेगी

बीमारियों से राहत तुम्हे मिलेगी

प्राकृतिक दृश्यों से कुछ सीख तुम्हें मिलेगी

जीवन में हर एक खुशी का आनंद लीजिए

मिल जुलकर परिवार के साथ टूरिज़्म का आनंद लीजिए

• रेल यात्रा पर निबंध short essay on rail yatra in hindi
• रथ यात्रा पर निबंध rath yatra essay in hindi

दोस्तों अगर आपको हमारे द्वारा लिखा गया ये आर्टिकल travel quotes in hindi पसंद आए तो इसे अपने दोस्तों में शेयर करना ना भूले इसे शेयर जरूर करें और हमारा Facebook पेज लाइक करना ना भूलें और हमें कमेंटस के जरिए बताएं कि आपको हमारा यह आर्टिकल travel poem in hindi कैसा लगा जिससे नए नए आर्टिकल लिखने प्रति हमें प्रोत्साहन मिल सके और इसी तरह के नए-नए आर्टिकल को सीधे अपने ईमेल पर पाने के लिए हमें सब्सक्राइब जरूर करें जिससे हमारे द्वारा लिखी कोई भी पोस्ट आप पढना भूल ना पाए.

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• अनोखी बातें

सफ़र पर बेहतरीन शायरी | Travel Shayari

Safar Shayari Travel Shayari in Hindi – जन्म से मौत तक जिन्दगी एक सफ़र हैं. गम से ख़ुशी पाने तक, रोने से हँसने तक सब एक सफ़र हैं. जीवन पल-पल बदलता रहा हैं. इस पोस्ट में बेहतरीन Safar Shayari, Travel Shayari दी गयी हैं जरूर पढ़े…

Best Travel Shayari in Hindi | बेस्ट ट्रेवल शायरी हिंदी में

मशहूर हो जाते हैं वो जिनकी हस्ती बदनाम होती है, कट जाती है जिंदगी सफ़र में अक्सर जिनकी मंजिलें गुमनाम होती हैं

सैर कर दुनीया की गालिब, जिन्दगानी फिर कहा, जिन्दगानी गर रही तो, नौजवानी फिर कहा!

मुझे ख़बर थी मेरा इन्तजार घर में रहा, ये हादसा था कि मैं उम्र भर सफ़र में रहा…

चले थे जिस की तरफ़ वो निशान ख़त्म हुआ सफ़र अधूरा रहा आसमान ख़त्म हुआ…

एक सफ़र वो है जिस में पाँव नहीं दिल दुखता है

इस सफ़र में नींद ऐसी खो गई हम न सोए रात थक कर सो गई

किसी को घर से निकलते ही मिल गई मंज़िल कोई हमारी तरह उम्र भर सफ़र में रहा

मैं अकेला ही चला था जानिब-ए-मंज़िल मगर लोग साथ आते गए और कारवाँ बनता गया

ज़िंदगी यूँ हुई बसर तन्हा क़ाफ़िला साथ और सफ़र तन्हा.

दिल से मांगी जाए तो हर दुआ में असर होता है, मंजिलें उन्हीं को मिलती हैं जिनकी जिंदगी में सफ़र होता है.

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Indian author, top travel blogger & life coach – Anamika Mishra

10 Best Hindi Poetry Books of All Times

India is a country that is rich in various cultural and literary legacy. There are many talented and creative poets in our country who have given their best work to us. Let us explore such poets whose poems have created a mark in society and will always be remembered. Here is a list of 10 best Hindi poetry books of all time:

note: this post contains affiliate links best Hindi poetry books

1. Gitanjali by Rabindranath Tagore

Rabindranath Tagore was a Bengali poet, writer, composer, philosopher, social reformer and painter, his poetic songs were observed as spiritual and unpredictable. Gitanjali is one of Rabindranath Tagore’s most famous work for which he received the Nobel Prize in Literature in1913. Many of poems in this book are beautiful prayers written after a painful period in Rabindranath Tagore’s life.

2. Madhushala by Harivansh Rai Bachan

Harivansh Rai Bachan was an Indian poet and writer; he received the Padma Bhushan for his service to Hindi literature. Madhushala translates to wine-shop; here, poet compares a Madhushala with the entire embodiment of a person. This book is not based on a single theme like other poetry books but has 139 messages. Different messages have different themes portraying hopefulness, ageing, death.

3. Yama by Mahadevi Verma

Mahadevi Verma is a Hindi poet, essayist, sketch story writer from Uttar Pradesh. She is considered one of the four pillars of the Chhayawadi era in Hindi literature. She was one of the poets who worked for the wider society of India. Yama is a collection of some of her finest poetry for which she has won Gyanpeeth award.

4. Rashmirathi by Ramdhari Singh ‘Dinkar’

Ramdhari Singh also known by his pen name Dinkar was an Indian poet, essayist, patriot and academic. He arose as a poet of rebellion as a consequence of his nationalist poetry written in the days before India’s independence. Rashmirathi is a book for all the Indian mythological fans as it contains much deserved praise worthy poems to Karna, a tragic character from Mahabharata.

5. Saaye main dhoop by Dushyant Kumar

Dushyant Kumar is a Hindi poet of modern Hindi literature and is recognised as one of the leading poets of the 20 th century. Saaye main dhoop is a book that contains his most thoughtful and magical ghazals, poems in this book are twisted to create effects that remain forever.

6. Kamayani by Jaishankar Prasad

Jaishankar Prasad was a famous figure in modern Hindi literature and theatre. He was considered one of the four pillars of Romaticism in Hindi literature (Chhayavad) along with Sumitranandan Pant, Mahadevi Verma and Suryakant Tripathi ‘Nirala’. In Kamayani human. love is deeply portrayed through his poems, it also has a philosophical reflection on various emotions that a human can have.

7. Sansad se sarak tak by Sudama Pandey ‘Dhoomil’

Sudama Pandey also known has from pen name ‘Dhoomil’ is a rebellious Indian poet from Uttar Pradesh. During his lifetime he published just one collection of poems Sansad se sarak tak, but later went on to receive awards for his other works. This book consists of thought-provoking collection of fierce poems that can make readers think and act.

8. Saket by Maithili Sharan Gupt

Maithili Sharan Gupt was a modern Hindi poet from Uttar Pradesh, Saket is the immortal which he wanted to complete as the last composition of his literary life. This most acclaimed book narrates the events of the Ramayana from Lakshmana’s point of view.

9. Chidambara by Sumitranandan Pant

Sumitranandan Pant was an Indian poet of modern Hindi literature and was known for Romanticism in his poems which were inspired by nature, people and inner beauty.

10. Raat Pashmine Ki by Gulzar

Famous writer, lyricist and poet Gulzar released many of his works in the form of books. Raat pashmine ki is one of his best selling poetry books that is a collection of his best poems, dialogues and movie scenes.

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Solo Traveler

Solo travel tips, destinations, stories... the source for those who travel alone.

16 Best Poems About Travel and Life

December 17, 2021 by Tracey Nesbitt

We have compiled some of the best poems about travel into one post. They represent a wide variety of views and are taken from different time periods. They raise questions, share the joys of travel, and remind us to not take it for granted. Enjoy!

Table of Contents

If You Were in Cairo by Simon Constam

Members of the Solo Traveler Insiders , our premium membership program, were treated to a reading of this poem by the author at a recent virtual event.

If You Were in Cairo

If you were in Cairo, and I in Kampala; if you took to Phoenix, and I to Havana; if you sojourned in Saigon, and I in Phnom Penh even that short distance would deeply offend. And seeing as how I’d want to stay close to you, I’d find every which way to stay in touch with you.

If you moved to Tuvalu, to live or to work, And email was stalled and the phones didn’t work. I’d train clever pigeons to soar up above, to faithfully reach you with my missives of love.

I’d vouchsafe a letter with a monk in a monastery. I’d entrust my love note to an Amazon missionary. I’d hire a Sherpa to mountain climb after you on Everest, on Lhotse, Nanga Parbat or K2…

I would do anything to keep myself close to you. I’d learn Swahili, Hindi, and even Urdu. No hurdle of language I’d have to confront, could ever deter my untiring want.

You can travel as far and as long as you like by plane, train, or boat, by car or by bike. I’d find a way, some way, to reach out to you, I’d even use snail mail if I absolutely had to.

If you flew supersonically out into the blue, I’d radio the pilot to tell you I love you. If you pined for space travel and lived in the shuttle, and our back and forth was a quite public muddle, and officials below and your crewmates above had all grown quite tired of such raging, unending, fulsome, embarrassing love,

no matter the trouble I’d have surely incurred, I’d carry on calling, could not be deterred by pleading from NASA, complaints or protests, they’d have to come get me, put me under arrest.

If not-talking was something that you took a vow for, I’d read to you, sing to you, whatever you’d need me to. I’d learn to lip read and learn to sign too There’s really no end to what I would do.

I’d follow you through darkness. I’d follow you through rain. My daily attention might drive you insane.

Have I made my point clear? You have nothing to fear I’m resourceful enough to keep loving you.

So great is my love, I am indefatigable . When it comes to you, love, I can’t stop loving you!

Viaggiate by Gio Evan

I recently came across this poem when a friend shared it on Facebook. From what I can piece together (most information I could find about him is written in Italian, so I am at the mercy of Google Translate) Gio Evan spent about eight years traveling around India, South America, and Europe by bike. Perhaps the inspiration for this piece came from his journey. His website describes him as a “multifaceted artist, writer and poet, philosopher, humorist, performer, songwriter and street artist.”

New poems about travel don't come along every day, so this one is a nice surprise. Evan encourages us to travel for learning and personal growth, greater understanding and acceptance, and a feeling of connection to the world.

As I was unable to find an official English translation, I have posted the poem in the original Italian, straight from Evan's Facebook page, alongside the English version I first read online.

Travel/Viaggiate

Consolation by Billy Collins

This poem, by former US Poet Laureate Billy Collins, who was the first recipient of the Mark Twain Prize for Humor in Poetry, celebrates the time we spend at home. It encourages us to appreciate our time not traveling as much as our time traveling. It takes on a slightly different meaning now, at a time when none of us can travel

Consolation

How agreeable it is not to be touring Italy this summer, wandering her cities and ascending her torrid hilltowns. How much better to cruise these local, familiar streets, fully grasping the meaning of every roadsign and billboard and all the sudden hand gestures of my compatriots. There are no abbeys here, no crumbling frescoes or famous domes and there is no need to memorize a succession of kings or tour the dripping corners of a dungeon. No need to stand around a sarcophagus, see Napoleon's little bed on Elba, or view the bones of a saint under glass. How much better to command the simple precinct of home than be dwarfed by pillar, arch, and basilica. Why hide my head in phrase books and wrinkled maps? Why feed scenery into a hungry, one-eyes camera eager to eat the world one monument at a time? Instead of slouching in a café ignorant of the word for ice, I will head down to the coffee shop and the waitress known as Dot. I will slide into the flow of the morning paper, all language barriers down, rivers of idiom running freely, eggs over easy on the way. And after breakfast, I will not have to find someone willing to photograph me with my arm around the owner. I will not puzzle over the bill or record in a journal what I had to eat and how the sun came in the window. It is enough to climb back into the car as if it were the great car of English itself and sounding my loud vernacular horn, speed off down a road that will never lead to Rome, not even Bologna.

Dislocation by Simon Constam

People who don't travel a lot don't always understand how hard it can be. They often mistake traveling for taking a holiday. But they are very different things. Traveling, especially long term, challenges and stretches one in many ways. Time constraints on short trips can cause you to explore from morning to night, returning at the end exhausted yet ready to do it again the next day.

Dislocation

I envy those who envy me for traveling. Sometimes I sit on a foreign street in a busy cafe, imagining you wishing you were here, feeling for the first time the thrilling flush of wanting to be elsewhere, the frisson of happiness that wishes bring. And so I sit quietly knowing that now it’s time to figure out just what it is I meant to do here.

Of this poem about travel, Simon says: “I wrote Dislocation back when I was 19, in the middle of my round-the-world trip. The meaning and purpose of travel is not always evident. To build confidence, some would say. To open one's eyes, say others. And some would say to realize their destinies. I would often sit at an outdoor cafe wondering what it was exactly I was doing while the wheels and gears of everyday were spinning relentlessly at home.”

You can follow Simon on Instagram @dailyferocity where he publishes a new aphorism every day, or sign up to receive them by email .

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Learning to Travel by Julene Tripp Weaver

Traveling long-term allows you to travel slowly. In fact, it demands that you travel slowly. And what are the benefits of that? It's about learning the language, cooking with an old woman, having children knock on your door when something exciting is happening. How wonderful.

But then, in this poem by Julene Tripp Weaver, the circus comes to town. New opportunities arise. And the traveler picks up and follows the opportunities “beneath the throw of the knife”. They ignore the risk of leaving what is comfortable and explore new horizons.

Learning to Travel

She will learn French, enough to greet and shop become known. A French baker befriends her. After a long summer she stays on into the fall writes poems, picks wild herbs. An old woman cooks with her. They sit in silence while the sun sets. In the evening she lights candles, when hungry they share bread and cheese. A circus comes to town, young children knock on her door to watch elephants parade in the street. Tents are raised. A knife thrower invites her for his act. The wind of flying knives pulses dreams of moving on with the circus until there is no question. She will go. She pulls together a bag says goodbye to the old woman to the baker, to the children, moves to the next town beneath the throw of the knife.

Majorca by John Cooper Clarke

Instead of treating travel with reverence, this poem offers another truth about travel which is not quite, well, reverential. As Clarke says in his intro, it's about holiday packages. Love them or hate them, most of us can relate to this poem in one way or another.

Don't miss hearing Clarke perform this piece himself by scrolling to the bottom of the poem.

fasten your seatbelts says a voice inside the plane you can't hear no noise engines made by rolls royce take your choice …make mine majorca check out the parachutes can't be found alert those passengers they'll be drowned a friendly mug says “settle down” when i came round i was gagged and bound …for Majorca and the eyes caress the neat hostess her unapproachable flip finesse i found the meaning of the word excess they've got little bags if you wanna make a mess i fancied Cuba but it cost me less …to Majorca (Whose blonde sand fondly kisses the cool fathoms of the blue mediteranean) they packed us into the white hotel you could still smell the polycell wet white paint in the air-conditioned cells the waiter smelled of fake Chanel Gaulois… Garlic as well says if i like… i can call him “Miguel” …well really i got drunk with another fella who'd just brought up a previous paella he wanted a fight but said they were yella' …in Majorca the guitars rang and the castinets clicked the dancer's stamped and the dancer's kicked it's likely if you sang in the street you'd be nicked the double diamond flowed like sick mother's pride, tortilla and chips pneumatic drills when you try to kip …in Majorca a stomach infection put me in the shade must have been something in the lemonade but by the balls of franco i paid had to pawn my bucket and spade next year I'll take the international brigade …to Majorca

Questions of Travel by Elizabeth Bishop

Why do we travel?  Is it, as Elizabeth Bishop suggests, a lack of imagination?

Elizabeth Bishop (1911-1979) is considered one of the great American poets of the 20th century. Enjoy this beautiful poem about travel.

Questions of Travel

There are too many waterfalls here; the crowded streams hurry too rapidly down to the sea, and the pressure of so many clouds on the mountaintops makes them spill over the sides in soft slow-motion, turning to waterfalls under our very eyes. –For if those streaks, those mile-long, shiny, tearstains, aren't waterfalls yet, in a quick age or so, as ages go here, they probably will be. But if the streams and clouds keep travelling, travelling, the mountains look like the hulls of capsized ships, slime-hung and barnacled.

Think of the long trip home. Should we have stayed at home and thought of here? Where should we be today? Is it right to be watching strangers in a play in this strangest of theatres? What childishness is it that while there's a breath of life in our bodies, we are determined to rush to see the sun the other way around? The tiniest green hummingbird in the world? To stare at some inexplicable old stonework, inexplicable and impenetrable, at any view, instantly seen and always, always delightful? Oh, must we dream our dreams and have them, too? And have we room for one more folded sunset, still quite warm?

But surely it would have been a pity not to have seen the trees along this road, really exaggerated in their beauty, not to have seen them gesturing like noble pantomimists, robed in pink. –Not to have had to stop for gas and heard the sad, two-noted, wooden tune of disparate wooden clogs carelessly clacking over a grease-stained filling-station floor. (In another country the clogs would all be tested. Each pair there would have identical pitch.) –A pity not to have heard the other, less primitive music of the fat brown bird who sings above the broken gasoline pump in a bamboo church of Jesuit baroque: three towers, five silver crosses. –Yes, a pity not to have pondered, blurr'dly and inconclusively, on what connection can exist for centuries between the crudest wooden footwear and, careful and finicky, the whittled fantasies of wooden footwear and, careful and finicky, the whittled fantasies of wooden cages. –Never to have studied history in the weak calligraphy of songbirds' cages. –And never to have had to listen to rain so much like politicians' speeches: two hours of unrelenting oratory and then a sudden golden silence in which the traveller takes a notebook, writes:

“Is it lack of imagination that makes us come to imagined places, not just stay at home? Or could Pascal have been not entirely right about just sitting quietly in one's room?

Continent, city, country, society: the choice is never wide and never free. And here, or there . . . No. Should we have stayed at home, wherever that may be?”

For the Traveler by John O’Donohue

Aren't poetry and travel simply two different modes of exploring the world? Of learning who we are, what we believe, and how it all fits together?

When we are surrounded by family and friends, we are subject to their expectations of us. Our behavior, even our thoughts, are circumscribed by a desire for acceptance. Traveling solo you have time to discover who you are, what's really in your heart, when no one is looking.

John O'Donohue was born in 1956 and died in 2008. An Irish scholar, philosopher, priest, and poet, his first published work was “Anam Cara” which holds a wonderful quote for solo travelers:

“When you cease to fear your solitude, a new creativity awakens in you. Your forgotten or neglected wealth begins to reveal itself. You come home to yourself and learn to rest within. Thoughts are our inner senses. Infused with silence and solitude, they bring out the mystery of inner landscape.”

For the Traveler

Every time you leave home, Another road takes you Into a world you were never in. New strangers on other paths await. New places that have never seen you Will startle a little at your entry. Old places that know you well Will pretend nothing Changed since your last visit. When you travel, you find yourself Alone in a different way, More attentive now To the self you bring along, Your more subtle eye watching You abroad; and how what meets you Touches that part of the heart That lies low at home: How you unexpectedly attune To the timbre in some voice, Opening in conversation You want to take in To where your longing Has pressed hard enough Inward, on some unsaid dark, To create a crystal of insight You could not have known You needed To illuminate Your way. When you travel, A new silence Goes with you, And if you listen, You will hear What your heart would Love to say. A journey can become a sacred thing: Make sure, before you go, To take the time To bless your going forth, To free your heart of ballast So that the compass of your soul Might direct you toward The territories of spirit Where you will discover More of your hidden life, And the urgencies That deserve to claim you. May you travel in an awakened way, Gathered wisely into your inner ground; That you may not waste the invitations Which wait along the way to transform you. May you travel safely, arrive refreshed, And live your time away to its fullest; Return home more enriched, and free To balance the gift of days which call you.

The Lady in 38C by Lori Jakiela

Traveling on a regular basis, flight attendants have a chance to see the world. Serving hundreds of people every day from different cultures, different economic classes, genders, ages, and every other attribute that contributes to making individuals unique, they are positioned to observe and appreciate the human condition. 

Poet Lori Jakiela worked for Delta Air Lines for six years. She is now a professor at The University of Pittsburgh-Greensburg.

This poem is about unadulterated joy. Using her experience as a flight attendant, Jakiela focuses us on how we often miss the joy that life has to offer.

The Lady in 38C

The Lady in 38 C gets confused. She thinks I'm her nurse. “Nurse!” she yells. “My finger!” So I bring her a band-aid and put it on even though she's fine. “Oh thank you nurse!” she yells. “You're a good one.” She winks and smiles and the woman next to her glares into her computer. I think the old lady's charming. She's 86, still pretty. Her eyes are blue. Her hair is a cloud. She looks exactly like what's outside. She's the only air in this cabin, the only light. “Nurse!” she yells, and I look back over the sad heads, eggs in a carton, faces pressed against the mite-ridden blankets and pillows they fought for, and there she is, beaming. “Nurse,” she says. “Where are we?” I take her hand and look out the window. I scratch my head, smile and say, “Somewhere over Idunno.” She's the only passenger who's ever gotten that joke. Up here, nearly everyone is miserable. I count on small joys to get by. The woman in 38C says, “Oh, Nurse!” and the woman next to her who probably thinks we're somewhere over Idaho, that wonderland of Hemingway and golden potatoes, rolls her eyes and bangs the computer keys until the seatbelt sign goes on and the captain says, “We'll be experiencing weather.” which is what people say instead of scary things like storm and turbulence and pretty soon the plane is bouncing and the woman with the computer grips her armrest while the old lady throws her arms up like she's on a roller coaster and yells, “They should charge extra for this!”

The World Won’t Miss You for a While by Kathryn Simmonds

Perhaps the world will continue turning if you take a break now and then. And, just maybe, on your return you’ll make a better contribution to it.

In this poem, Kathryn Simmonds, a British poet born in 1972 illustrates that stepping off the planet is not just for busy Type A personalities. It is for Hare Krishnas, sous chefs, and apprentice pharmacists. It is for everyone.

The World Won’t Miss You for a While

Lie down with me you hillwalkers and rest, untie your boots and separate your toes, ignore the compass wavering north/north west. Quit trailing through the overcrowded streets with tinkling bells, you child of Hare Krishna. Hush. Unfurl your saffron robes. How sweet the grass. And you, photographer of wars, lie down and cap your lens. Ambassador, take off your dancing shoes. There are no laws by which you must abide oh blushing boy with Stanley knife, no county magistrates are waiting here to dress you down: employ yourself with cutting up these wild flowers as you like. Sous chef with baby guinea fowl to stuff, surveillance officer with hours to fill, and anorexic weighing up a meal, lie down. Girl riding to an interview, turn back before they force you to reveal your hidey holes. Apprentice pharmacist, leave carousels of second generation happy pills. The long term sad. And journalist with dreams, forget the man from Lancashire who lost his tongue, the youth who found it, kept it quivering in a matchbox for a year.

3 Poems About Travel by Sheenagh Pugh

Ah, if the roads we take every day could offer us the surprises, even on occasion, that travel delivers.

In this first poem about travel by Sheenagh Pugh, a British poet (originally from Wales) who says in her biography “I have been accused of being ‘populist’ and ‘too accessible,’ both of which I hope are true,” we are offered a road to explore what we don't know. To see what could be. What could happen.

Travel cannot always be on our agenda but we can still look around blind corners for new discoveries.  

What If This Road

What if this road, that has held no surprises these many years, decided not to go home after all; what if it could turn left or right with no more ado than a kite-tail? What if its tarry skin were like a long, supple bolt of cloth, that is shaken and rolled out, and takes a new shape from the contours beneath? And if it chose to lay itself down in a new way; around a blind corner, across hills you must climb without knowing what's on the other side; who would not hanker to be going, at all risks? Who wants to know a story's end, or where a road will go?

Many of us spend too much time documenting our travels rather than experiencing them.

We could live more fully in the moment. We could savor the experience to learn more deeply and remember more clearly.

In this second poem by Sheenagh Pugh, we are advised that notes and images offer little upon our return.

The Opportune Moment

If you were waiting for the opportune moment, that was it” – Capt Jack Sparrow, Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl When you go ashore in that town, take neither a camera nor a notebook. However many photographs you upload of that street, the smell of almond paste will be missing; the harbour will not sound of wind slapping on chains. You will read notes like “Sami church”, later, and know you saw nothing, never put it where you could find it again, were never really there. When you go ashore in the small port with the rusty trawlers, there will be fur hawkers who all look like Genghis Khan on a market stall, crumbling pavements, roses frozen in bud, an altar with wool hangings, vessels like canal ware, a Madonna with a Russian doll face. When you go ashore, take nothing but the knowledge that where you are, you never will be again

There are two parts to this final poem about travel by Sheenagh Pugh. The first projects a future when our travel is not around the world but to Earth. It muses on a time when we have ruined our planet to the point that we no longer live here and it has become a destination suitable only for the “young and fit”. Do our travels contribute to this potential future?

The second part urges the reader to take it all in deeply, with all your senses. This applies equally to today's travelers as tomorrow’s. It explores the possible ways of experiencing a new place. It is gorgeous.

Do You Think We’ll Ever Get to See Earth, Sir?

I hear they're hoping to run trips one day, for the young and fit, of course. I don't see much use in it myself; there'll be any number of places you can't land, because they're still toxic, and even in the relatively safe bits you won't see what it was; what it could be. I can't fancy a tour through the ruins of my home with a party of twenty-five and a guide to tell me what to see. But if you should see some beautiful thing, some leaf, say, damascened with frost, some iridescence on a pigeon's neck, some stone, some curve, some clear water; look at it as if you were made of eyes, as if you were nothing but an eye, lidless and tender, to be probed and scorched by extreme light. Look at it with your skin, with the small hairs on the back of your neck. If it is well-shaped, look at it with your hands; if it has fragrance, breathe it into yourself; if it tastes sweet, put your tongue to it. Look at it as a happening, a moment; let nothing of it go unrecorded, map it as if it were already passing. Look at it with the inside of your head, look at it for later, look at it for ever, and look at it once for me.

Song of the Open Road by Walt Whitman

The open road holds the pleasures of solitude as well as surprising adventures.

Walt Whitman (American poet, essayist, and journalist, 1819-1892) wrote his “Song of the Open Road” long before the automobile was invented. But somehow, that notion of the open road was already present in the American psyche. This is a massive poem, epic in nature.

Song of the Open Road

Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road, Healthy, free, the world before me, The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose. Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune, Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing, Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms, Strong and content I travel the open road. The earth, that is sufficient, I do not want the constellations any nearer, I know they are very well where they are, I know they suffice for those who belong to them. (Still here I carry my old delicious burdens, I carry them, men and women, I carry them with me wherever I go, I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them, I am fill'd with them, and I will fill them in return.) 2 You road I enter upon and look around, I believe you are not all that is here, I believe that much unseen is also here. Here the profound lesson of reception, nor preference nor denial, The black with his woolly head, the felon, the diseas'd, the illiterate person, are not denied; The birth, the hasting after the physician, the beggar's tramp, the drunkard's stagger, the laughing party of mechanics, The escaped youth, the rich person's carriage, the fop, the eloping couple, The early market-man, the hearse, the moving of furniture into the town, the return back from the town, They pass, I also pass, any thing passes, none can be interdicted, None but are accepted, none but shall be dear to me. 3 You air that serves me with breath to speak! You objects that call from diffusion my meanings and give them shape! You light that wraps me and all things in delicate equable showers! You paths worn in the irregular hollows by the roadsides! I believe you are latent with unseen existences, you are so dear to me. You flagg'd walks of the cities! you strong curbs at the edges! You ferries! you planks and posts of wharves! you timber-lined side! you distant ships! You rows of houses! you window-pierc'd facades! you roofs! You porches and entrances! you copings and iron guards! You windows whose transparent shells might expose so much! You doors and ascending steps! you arches! You gray stones of interminable pavements! you trodden crossings! From all that has touch'd you I believe you have imparted to yourselves, and now would impart the same secretly to me, From the living and the dead you have peopled your impassive surfaces, and the spirits thereof would be evident and amicable with me. 4 The earth expanding right hand and left hand, The picture alive, every part in its best light, The music falling in where it is wanted, and stopping where it is not wanted, The cheerful voice of the public road, the gay fresh sentiment of the road. O highway I travel, do you say to me Do not leave me? Do you say Venture not–if you leave me you are lost? Do you say I am already prepared, I am well-beaten and undenied, adhere to me? O public road, I say back I am not afraid to leave you, yet I love you, You express me better than I can express myself, You shall be more to me than my poem. I think heroic deeds were all conceiv'd in the open air, and all free poems also, I think I could stop here myself and do miracles, I think whatever I shall meet on the road I shall like, and whoever beholds me shall like me, I think whoever I see must be happy. 5 From this hour I ordain myself loos'd of limits and imaginary lines, Going where I list, my own master total and absolute, Listening to others, considering well what they say, Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating, Gently, but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that would hold me. I inhale great draughts of space, The east and the west are mine, and the north and the south are mine. I am larger, better than I thought, I did not know I held so much goodness. All seems beautiful to me, can repeat over to men and women You have done such good to me I would do the same to you, I will recruit for myself and you as I go, I will scatter myself among men and women as I go, I will toss a new gladness and roughness among them, Whoever denies me it shall not trouble me, Whoever accepts me he or she shall be blessed and shall bless me. 6 Now if a thousand perfect men were to appear it would not amaze me, Now if a thousand beautiful forms of women appear'd it would not astonish me. Now I see the secret of the making of the best persons, It is to grow in the open air and to eat and sleep with the earth. Here a great personal deed has room, (Such a deed seizes upon the hearts of the whole race of men, Its effusion of strength and will overwhelms law and mocks all authority and all argument against it.) Here is the test of wisdom, Wisdom is not finally tested in schools, Wisdom cannot be pass'd from one having it to another not having it, Wisdom is of the soul, is not susceptible of proof, is its own proof, Applies to all stages and objects and qualities and is content, Is the certainty of the reality and immortality of things, and the excellence of things; Something there is in the float of the sight of things that provokes it out of the soul. Now I re-examine philosophies and religions, They may prove well in lecture-rooms, yet not prove at all under the spacious clouds and along the landscape and flowing currents. Here is realization, Here is a man tallied–he realizes here what he has in him, The past, the future, majesty, love–if they are vacant of you, you are vacant of them. Only the kernel of every object nourishes; Where is he who tears off the husks for you and me? Where is he that undoes stratagems and envelopes for you and me? Here is adhesiveness, it is not previously fashion'd, it is apropos; Do you know what it is as you pass to be loved by strangers? Do you know the talk of those turning eye-balls? 7 Here is the efflux of the soul, The efflux of the soul comes from within through embower'd gates, ever provoking questions, These yearnings why are they? these thoughts in the darkness why are they? Why are there men and women that while they are nigh me the sunlight expands my blood? Why when they leave me do my pennants of joy sink flat and lank? Why are there trees I never walk under but large and melodious thoughts descend upon me? (I think they hang there winter and summer on those trees and always drop fruit as I pass;) What is it I interchange so suddenly with strangers? What with some driver as I ride on the seat by his side? What with some fisherman drawing his seine by the shore as I walk by and pause? What gives me to be free to a woman's and man's good-will? what gives them to be free to mine? 8 The efflux of the soul is happiness, here is happiness, I think it pervades the open air, waiting at all times, Now it flows unto us, we are rightly charged. Here rises the fluid and attaching character, The fluid and attaching character is the freshness and sweetness of man and woman, (The herbs of the morning sprout no fresher and sweeter every day out of the roots of themselves, than it sprouts fresh and sweet continually out of itself.) Toward the fluid and attaching character exudes the sweat of the love of young and old, From it falls distill'd the charm that mocks beauty and attainments, Toward it heaves the shuddering longing ache of contact. 9 Allons! whoever you are come travel with me! Traveling with me you find what never tires. The earth never tires, The earth is rude, silent, incomprehensible at first, Nature is rude and incomprehensible at first, Be not discouraged, keep on, there are divine things well envelop'd, I swear to you there are divine things more beautiful than words can tell. Allons! we must not stop here, However sweet these laid-up stores, however convenient this dwelling we cannot remain here, However shelter'd this port and however calm these waters we must not anchor here, However welcome the hospitality that surrounds us we are permitted to receive it but a little while. 10 Allons! the inducements shall be greater, We will sail pathless and wild seas, We will go where winds blow, waves dash, and the Yankee clipper speeds by under full sail. Allons! with power, liberty, the earth, the elements, Health, defiance, gayety, self-esteem, curiosity; Allons! from all formules! From your formules, O bat-eyed and materialistic priests. The stale cadaver blocks up the passage–the burial waits no longer. Allons! yet take warning! He traveling with me needs the best blood, thews, endurance, None may come to the trial till he or she bring courage and health, Come not here if you have already spent the best of yourself, Only those may come who come in sweet and determin'd bodies, No diseas'd person, no rum-drinker or venereal taint is permitted here. (I and mine do not convince by arguments, similes, rhymes, We convince by our presence.) 11 Listen! I will be honest with you, I do not offer the old smooth prizes, but offer rough new prizes, These are the days that must happen to you: You shall not heap up what is call'd riches, You shall scatter with lavish hand all that you earn or achieve, You but arrive at the city to which you were destin'd, you hardly settle yourself to satisfaction before you are call'd by an irresistible call to depart, You shall be treated to the ironical smiles and mockings of those who remain behind you, What beckonings of love you receive you shall only answer with passionate kisses of parting, You shall not allow the hold of those who spread their reach'd hands toward you. 12 Allons! after the great Companions, and to belong to them! They too are on the road–they are the swift and majestic men–they are the greatest women, Enjoyers of calms of seas and storms of seas, Sailors of many a ship, walkers of many a mile of land, Habitues of many distant countries, habitues of far-distant dwellings, Trusters of men and women, observers of cities, solitary toilers, Pausers and contemplators of tufts, blossoms, shells of the shore, Dancers at wedding-dances, kissers of brides, tender helpers of children, bearers of children, Soldiers of revolts, standers by gaping graves, lowerers-down of coffins, Journeyers over consecutive seasons, over the years, the curious years each emerging from that which preceded it, Journeyers as with companions, namely their own diverse phases, Forth-steppers from the latent unrealized baby-days, Journeyers gayly with their own youth, journeyers with their bearded and well-grain'd manhood, Journeyers with their womanhood, ample, unsurpass'd, content, Journeyers with their own sublime old age of manhood or womanhood, Old age, calm, expanded, broad with the haughty breadth of the universe, Old age, flowing free with the delicious near-by freedom of death. 13 Allons! to that which is endless as it was beginningless, To undergo much, tramps of days, rests of nights, To merge all in the travel they tend to, and the days and nights they tend to, Again to merge them in the start of superior journeys, To see nothing anywhere but what you may reach it and pass it, To conceive no time, however distant, but what you may reach it and pass it, To look up or down no road but it stretches and waits for you, however long but it stretches and waits for you, To see no being, not God's or any, but you also go thither, To see no possession but you may possess it, enjoying all without labor or purchase, abstracting the feast yet not abstracting one particle of it, To take the best of the farmer's farm and the rich man's elegant villa, and the chaste blessings of the well-married couple, and the fruits of orchards and flowers of gardens, To take to your use out of the compact cities as you pass through, To carry buildings and streets with you afterward wherever you go, To gather the minds of men out of their brains as you encounter them, to gather the love out of their hearts, To take your lovers on the road with you, for all that you leave them behind you, To know the universe itself as a road, as many roads, as roads for traveling souls. All parts away for the progress of souls, All religion, all solid things, arts, governments–all that was or is apparent upon this globe or any globe, falls into niches and corners before the procession of souls along the grand roads of the universe. Of the progress of the souls of men and women along the grand roads of the universe, all other progress is the needed emblem and sustenance. Forever alive, forever forward, Stately, solemn, sad, withdrawn, baffled, mad, turbulent, feeble, dissatisfied, Desperate, proud, fond, sick, accepted by men, rejected by men, They go! they go! I know that they go, but I know not where they go, But I know that they go toward the best–toward something great. Whoever you are, come forth! or man or woman come forth! You must not stay sleeping and dallying there in the house, though you built it, or though it has been built for you. Out of the dark confinement! out from behind the screen! It is useless to protest, I know all and expose it. Behold through you as bad as the rest, Through the laughter, dancing, dining, supping, of people, Inside of dresses and ornaments, inside of those wash'd and trimm'd faces, Behold a secret silent loathing and despair. No husband, no wife, no friend, trusted to hear the confession, Another self, a duplicate of every one, skulking and hiding it goes, Formless and wordless through the streets of the cities, polite and bland in the parlors, In the cars of railroads, in steamboats, in the public assembly, Home to the houses of men and women, at the table, in the bedroom, everywhere, Smartly attired, countenance smiling, form upright, death under the breast-bones, hell under the skull-bones, Under the broadcloth and gloves, under the ribbons and artificial flowers, Keeping fair with the customs, speaking not a syllable of itself, Speaking of any thing else but never of itself. 14 Allons! through struggles and wars! The goal that was named cannot be countermanded. Have the past struggles succeeded? What has succeeded? yourself? your nation? Nature? Now understand me well–it is provided in the essence of things that from any fruition of success, no matter what, shall come forth something to make a greater struggle necessary. My call is the call of battle, I nourish active rebellion, He going with me must go well arm'd, He going with me goes often with spare diet, poverty, angry enemies, desertions. 15 Allons! the road is before us! It is safe–I have tried it–my own feet have tried it well–be not detain'd! Let the paper remain on the desk unwritten, and the book on the shelf unopen'd! Let the tools remain in the workshop! let the money remain unearn'd! Let the school stand! mind not the cry of the teacher! Let the preacher preach in his pulpit! let the lawyer plead in the court, and the judge expound the law. Camerado, I give you my hand! I give you my love more precious than money, I give you myself before preaching or law; Will you give me yourselp. will you come travel with me? Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?

Why Do I Travel? Author Unknown

It is on the road that I am a poet, an ambassador, a dancer, medicine woman, an angel and even a genius

Traveling solo provides an opportunity to explore that aspect of your life which may be overshadowed by responsibilities and the expectations of others. It is an opportunity to live as a poet, an ambassador, a dancer, or whatever role you would, in a perfect world, take on. In doing so you will be that much closer to a well-earned label of genius.

We’ve been unable to confirm the author of this poem about travel. Perhaps Sana Musama or Musasama, but we can’t be certain. Regardless, it's a beautiful and significant piece of writing. If you have more details on the poet, please let us know so we can properly acknowledge them.

Why do I travel?

It is on the road that my inner voice speaks the loudest and my heart beats the strongest. It is on the road that I take extra pride in my wooly hair, full features and lineage. It is on the road that I develop extra senses and the hairs on my arms stand up and say “Sana, don't go there”, and I listen. It's when I safety pin my money to my underclothes and count it a million times before I go to sleep, It is on the road that I am a poet, an ambassador, a dancer, medicine woman, an angel and even a genius. It's on the road that I am fearless and unstoppable and if necessary ball up my fist and fight back. It is on the road that I talk to my deceased parents and they speak back It's on the road that I reprimand myself, and set new goals, refuel, stop and begin again. It is on the road that I experience what freedom truly is. It is my travel that has transformed me making me a citizen of the world. When my humanness, compassion and affection are raised to a new level and I share unconditionally.

The Return by Geneen Marie Haugen 

Single people are frequently the butt of jokes and jibes about “getting lucky”. But this term takes on a whole new meaning through solo travel, as it does in this poem. Here, one gets lucky when they return from travel “trailing snake scales, wing fragments and the musk of Earth and moon”.

Not everyone understands the need to travel and fewer still understand the need of solo travelers to head out on their own. By traveling solo, you can connect more deeply with a place and its people than when you are distracted by a companion. You get close to the ground, to the “musk of the earth”. You will be more affected by travel.

The poet, Geneen Marie Haugen is a writer, wilderness wanderer, and scholar.  

Some day, if you are lucky, you'll return from a thunderous journey trailing snake scales, wing fragments and the musk of Earth and moon. Eyes will examine you for signs of damage, or change and you, too, will wonder if your skin shows traces of fur, or leaves, if thrushes have built a nest of your hair, if Andromeda burns from your eyes. Do not be surprised by prickly questions from those who barely inhabit their own fleeting lives, who barely taste their own possibility, who barely dream. If your hands are empty, treasureless, if your toes have not grown claws, if your obedient voice has not become a wild cry, a howl, you will reassure them. We warned you, they might declare, there is nothing else, no point, no meaning, no mystery at all, just this frantic waiting to die. And yet, they tremble, mute, afraid you've returned without sweet elixir for unspeakable thirst, without a fluent dance or holy language to teach them, without a compass bearing to a forgotten border where no one crosses without weeping for the terrible beauty of galaxies and granite and bone. They tremble, hoping your lips hold a secret, that the song your body now sings will redeem them, yet they fear your secret is dangerous, shattering, and once it flies from your astonished mouth, they — like you — must disintegrate before unfolding tremulous wings.

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost

This may be one of the most well known poems about travel.

In travel, in life, is the road less traveled more courageous? Is it better? Maybe. Maybe not. But whatever course you take it will make all the difference.

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim Because it was grassy and wanted wear, Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I marked the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

Die Slowly by Martha Medeiros

This poem delivers a most positive outlook on life from the most negative angle possible.

Solo travel helps you flip on its head all that Martha Medeiros says contributes to a slow death. It causes you to change routines in your own rhythm, challenge yourself, build self-esteem, ask questions, explore with curiosity, and expand your world.

We all deserve splendid happiness. I hope you find yours.

He who becomes the slave of habit, who follows the same routes every day, who never changes pace, who does not risk and change the color of his clothes, who does not speak and does not experience, dies slowly. He or she who shuns passion, who prefers black on white, dotting ones i's rather than a bundle of emotions, the kind that make your eyes glimmer, that turn a yawn into a smile, that make the heart pound in the face of mistakes and feelings, dies slowly. He or she who does not turn things topsy-turvy, who is unhappy at work, who does not risk certainty for uncertainty, to thus follow a dream, those who do not forego sound advice at least once in their lives, die slowly. He who does not travel, who does not read, who does not listen to music, who does not find grace in himself, she who does not find grace in herself, dies slowly. He who slowly destroys his own self-esteem, who does not allow himself to be helped, who spends days on end complaining about his own bad luck, about the rain that never stops, dies slowly. He or she who abandons a project before starting it, who fails to ask questions on subjects he doesn't know, he or she who doesn't reply when they are asked something they do know, dies slowly. Let's try and avoid death in small doses, reminding oneself that being alive requires an effort far greater than the simple fact of breathing. Only a burning patience will lead to the attainment of a splendid happiness

What are your favorite poems about travel? Tell us about them and their meaning for you in the comments section below.

Thinking about hitting the open road? Check out our Solo Road Trip category . Do you have a solo travel story to tell? Share your photos and the story of your trip here.

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aaj ik aur baras biit gayā us ke baġhair

jis ke hote hue hote the zamāne mere

1936 | Mumbai , India

Celebrated poet, novelist, song and scriptwriter. Acclaimed for directing tele-serial on Mirza Ghalib. Recipient of Sahitya Academy and Dada Sahab Phalke awards

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Image Shayari 15

Short story 2, din kuchh aise guzarta hai koi, hath chhuten bhi to rishte nahin chhoda karte.

sham se aankh mein nami si hai

dard halka hai sans bhaari hai

Khushbu jaise log mile afsane mein, sans lena bhi kaisi aadat hai, kitaben jhankti hain band almari ke shishon se, raat-bhar sard hawa chalti rahi, aadmi bulbula hai, aadmi bulbula hai pani ka, ye kaisa ishq hai urdu zaban ka,, sher-o-shayari 52.

aap ke ba.ad har ghaḌī ham ne

aap ke saath hī guzārī hai

aap ke baad har ghaDi hum ne

aap ke sath hi guzari hai

aa.ina dekh kar tasallī huī

ham ko is ghar meñ jāntā hai koī

aaina dekh kar tasalli hui

hum ko is ghar mein jaanta hai koi

zindagī yuuñ huī basar tanhā

qāfila saath aur safar tanhā

TRANSLATION

The life was thus spent, alone,

Despite the caravan, journey, alone.

Sagar Akbarabadi

zindagi yun hui basar tanha

qafila sath aur safar tanha

shaam se aañkh meñ namī sī hai

aaj phir aap kī kamī sī hai

aaj phir aap ki kami si hai

kabhī to chauñk ke dekhe koī hamārī taraf

kisī kī aañkh meñ ham ko bhī intizār dikhe

kabhi to chaunk ke dekhe koi hamari taraf

kisi ki aankh mein hum ko bhi intizar dikhe

Gulzar Ek Ehsas Hai

Gulzar Ki Shairi Ka Tahqeeqi-o-Tanqeedi Jaiza

Gulzar Ke Geet

Gulzar Nama

Kusumagraj Ki Chuni Suni Nazmein

Manzarnama Libas

Mirza Ghalib

Ek Swanihi Manzar Nama

mere kap.Do.n me.n Ta.ngaa hai teraa KHush-ra.ng libaas! ghar pe dhotaa huu.n har baar use aur sukhaa ke phir se apne haatho.n se use istrii kartaa huu.n magar istrii karne se jaatii nahii.n shikne.n us kii aur dhone se gile-shikvo.n ke chikte nahii.n miTte! zindagii kis qadar aasaa.n hotii rishte gar hote libaas aur badal lete qamiizo.n kii tarah!

phir vahii.n lauT ke jaanaa hogaa yaar ne kaisii rihaa.ii dii hai

KHaamoshii kaa haasil bhii ik lambii sii KHaamoshii thii un kii baat sunii bhii ham ne apnii baat sunaa.ii bhii

har ek Gam nicho.D ke har ik baras jiye do din kii zindagii me.n hazaaro.n baras jiye sadiyo.n pe iKHtiyaar nahii.n thaa hamaaraa dost do chaar lamhe bas me.n the do chaar bas jiye sahraa ke us taraf se ga.e saare kaarvaa.n sun sun ke ham to sirf sadaa-e-jaras jiye ho.nTo.n me.n le ke raat ke aa.nchal kaa ik siraa aa.nkho.n pe rakh ke chaa.nd ke ho.nTo.n kaa mas jiye mahduud hai.n du.aa.e.n mire iKHtiyaar me.n har saa.ns pur-sukuun ho tuu sau baras jiye

aap ne auro.n se kahaa sab kuchh ham se bhii kuchh kabhii kahii.n kahte

der se guu.njte hai.n sannaaTe jaise ham ko pukaartaa hai ko.ii

KHushbuu jaise log mile afsaane me.n ek puraanaa KHat kholaa anjaane me.n

phuulo.n kii tarah lab khol kabhii KHushbuu kii zabaa.n me.n bol kabhii alfaaz parakhtaa rahtaa hai aavaaz hamaarii tol kabhii anmol nahii.n lekin phir bhii puuchh to muft kaa mol kabhii khi.Dkii me.n kaTii hai.n sab raate.n kuchh chauras thii.n kuchh gol kabhii ye dil bhii dost zamii.n kii tarah ho jaataa hai Daa.nvaa-Dol kabhii

vaqt rahtaa nahii.n kahii.n Tik kar aadat is kii bhii aadmii sii hai

jis kii aa.nkho.n me.n kaTii thii.n sadiyaa.n us ne sadiyo.n kii judaa.ii dii hai

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Poetry About Travel: 21 Most Inspiring Travel Poems

Are you looking for beautiful poetry about travel? Then you have come to the right place! This post features some of the most inspiring travel poems out there.

Travel experiences are often shared in blog posts, videos, books, songs or quotes , but poetry about travel is a bit harder to find. Poetry is a beautiful way to capture how travel makes us feel though, and there are some amazing poems about travel and adventure out there!

I collected 21 of the most beautiful travelling poems in this post. Let me know in the comments if you think there’s a beautiful poem that’s missing from this list, as I’m updating it frequently!

Poetry About Travel: The Most Beautiful Travel Poems

1. The Farewell by Kahlil Gibran

Even though the poetry about travel in this list is in no particular order, the first poem I had to think of was The Farewell by Kahlil Gibran (1883-1931). This beautiful poem can be found in Gibran’s book The Prophet , which is one of the most translated books in history.

I only included my favourite part in this post, as the poem is quite long, but you can read the full version on the link below.

We wanderers, ever seeking the lonelier way, begin no day where we have ended another day; and no sunrise finds us where sunset left us. Even while the earth sleeps we travel. We are the seeds of the tenacious plant, and it is in our ripeness and our fullness of heart that we are given to the wind and are scattered.

Read the full version of Farewell here

2. Freedom by Olive Runner

This short but powerful travel poem by Olive Runner embraces the feeling of freedom that can be found in travelling. It’s one of the most inspiring poems about exploring the world.

Give me the long, straight road before me,  A clear, cold day with a nipping air,  Tall, bare trees to run on beside me,  A heart that is light and free from care.  Then let me go! – I care not whither  My feet may lead, for my spirit shall be  Free as the brook that flows to the river,  Free as the river that flows to the sea.

3. Song of the Open Road by Walt Whitman

The main themes in Whitman’s (1819-1892) Song of the Open Road are freedom, joy and independence. This piece of travel poetry inspires us to be free from expectations, follow our own path and enjoy life – it holds a very beautiful message if you’re asking me!

Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road, Healthy, free, the world before me,

The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.

Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune, Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing, Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms, Strong and content I travel the open road.

The earth, that is sufficient, I do not want the constellations any nearer, I know they are very well where they are, I know they suffice for those who belong to them.

4. A Song of Joys by Walt Whitman 

You can find the last part of A Song of Joys by Walt Whitman (1819-1892) below. In this poem, Whitman describes different types of people and what brings joy to them. The last part speaks about the joy of travelling and exploring.

You can find the entire poem on the link below if you want to read the entire piece.

O to sail in a ship,  To leave this steady unendurable land,  To leave the tiresome sameness of the streets,  the sidewalks and the houses,  To leave you, O you solid motionless land, and  entering a ship,  To sail and sail and sail! O to have my life henceforth a poem of new joys! To dance, clap hands, exult, shout, skip, leap, roll on, float on, To be a sailor of the world, bound for all ports, A ship itself, (see indeed these sails I spread to the sun and air,) A swift and swelling ship, full of rich words—full of joys.

Read the full version here

5. Travelling Again by Du Fu

Often called “the Poet-Historian”, Du Fu (712-770 AD) is considered one of the greatest Chinese poets. His poem Traveling Again was written in 761 AD, which makes it the oldest of the travelling poems on this list. Fu wrote it during his second visit to a temple in a turbulent time for his country.

Temple remember once travel place Bridge remember again cross time River mountain like waiting Flower willow become selfless Country vivid mist shine thin Sand soft sun colour late Traveller sorrow all become decrease Stay here again what this

I remember the temple, this route I’ve travelled before, I recall the bridge as I cross it again. It seems the hills and rivers have been waiting, The flowers and willows all are selfless now. The field is sleek and vivid, thin mist shines, On soft sand, the sunlight’s colour shows it’s late. All the traveller’s sorrow fades away, What better place to rest than this?

6. Hearthside by Dorothy Parker

In Hearthside by Dorothy Parker (1893-1967), someone is sitting by a fire and thinking about all the places they will never see. It’s a touching piece of travel poetry that makes you dream about visiting places you haven’t been to (yet).

Half across the world from me Lie the lands I’ll never see- I, whose longing lives and dies Where a ship has sailed away; I, that never close my eyes But to look upon Cathay.

Things I may not know nor tell Wait, where older waters swell; Ways that flowered at Sappho’s tread, Winds that sighed in Homer’s strings, Vibrant with the singing dead, Golden with the dust of wings.

Under deeper skies than mine, Quiet valleys dip and shine. Where their tender grasses heal Ancient scars of trench and tomb I shall never walk: nor kneel Where the bones of poets bloom.

If I seek a lovelier part, Where I travel goes my heart; Where I stray my thought must go; With me wanders my desire. Best to sit and watch the snow, Turn the lock, and poke the fire.

7. The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost

A list full of poetry about travel wouldn’t be complete without The Road Not Taken . This deep poem by Robert Frost (1874-1963) talks about how the choices we make, no matter how small they may seem, can impact and shape our lives.

This is one of the most famous poems in the world, where the speaker chooses to take the “road less travelled by”. He/she doesn’t choose the life most people choose and thanks to this, the speaker of this poem is often celebrated for their individualism.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

8. Eldorado by Edgar Allan Poe

Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849) was my favourite poet as a teenager, and he’s still one of my favourite poets today. It’s believed that Eldorado is one of his last poems, as he wrote it six months before his death.

Eldorado tells the story of a knight who travels in search of a city of gold. According to scholars, parallels can be seen between the knight’s quest in this poem and Poe’s quest to find happiness in his life.

Gaily bedight,  A gallant knight, In sunshine and in shadow, Had journeyed long,  Singing a song, In search of Eldorado.  But he grew old –  This knight so bold –  And o’er his heart a shadow  Fell, as he found  No spot of ground  That looked like Eldorado.  And, as his strength  Failed him at length,  He met a pilgrim shadow –  ‘Shadow,’ said he,  ‘Where can it be –  This land of Eldorado?’  ‘Over the Mountains  Of the Moon,  Down the Valley of the Shadow,  Ride, boldly ride,’  The shade replied,  ‘If you seek for Eldorado!’

9. Rootless by Jenny Xie

In Rootless , Jenny Xie describes what she sees on a sleeper train between Hanoi and Sapa in Vietnam. The landscapes around the speaker constantly change while he/she is the only constant.

Between Hanoi and Sapa there are clean slabs of rice fields and no two brick houses in a row.

I mean, no three— See, counting’s hard in half-sleep, and the rain pulls a sheet

over the sugar palms and their untroubled leaves. Hours ago, I crossed a motorbike with a hog strapped to its seat,

the size of a date pit from a distance. Can this solitude be rootless, unhooked from the ground?

No matter. The mind resides both inside and out. It can think itself and think itself into existence.

I sponge off the eyes, no worse for wear. My frugal mouth spends the only foreign words it owns.

At present, on this sleeper train, there’s nowhere to arrive. Me? I’m just here in my traveller’s clothes, trying on each passing town for size.

10. Travel by Robert Louis Stevenson

This travel poem by Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894) talks about the dreams and ambitions of a young boy who wants to travel around the world when he grows up. It’s part of Stevenson’s collection A Child’s Garden of Verses .

I should like to rise and go Where the golden apples grow;— Where below another sky Parrot islands anchored lie, And, watched by cockatoos and goats, Lonely Crusoes building boats;— Where in sunshine reaching out Eastern cities, miles about, Are with mosque and minaret Among sandy gardens set, And the rich goods from near and far Hang for sale in the bazaar,— Where the Great Wall round China goes, And on one side the desert blows, And with bell and voice and drum Cities on the other hum;— Where are forests, hot as fire, Wide as England, tall as a spire, Full of apes and cocoa-nuts And the negro hunters’ huts;— Where the knotty crocodile Lies and blinks in the Nile, And the red flamingo flies Hunting fish before his eyes;— Where in jungles, near and far, Man-devouring tigers are, Lying close and giving ear Lest the hunt be drawing near, Or a comer-by be seen Swinging in a palanquin;— Where among the desert sands Some deserted city stands, All its children, sweep and prince, Grown to manhood ages since, Not a foot in street or house, Not a stir of child or mouse, And when kindly falls the night, In all the town no spark of light. There I’ll come when I’m a man With a camel caravan; Light a fire in the gloom Of some dusty dining-room; See the pictures on the walls, Heroes, fights and festivals; And in a corner find the toys Of the old Egyptian boys.

11. Dislocation by Simon Constam

Simon Constam wrote this beautiful travel poem during his round-the-world trip when he was 19. It’s about the difference between travelling long term and going on a holiday, which are two different things.

Long-term travel comes with its difficulties and challenges, and it’s different from vacationing.

I envy those who envy me for traveling. Sometimes I sit on a foreign street in a busy cafe, imagining you wishing you were here, feeling for the first time the thrilling flush of wanting to be elsewhere, the frisson of happiness that wishes bring. And so I sit quietly knowing that now it’s time to figure out just what it is I meant to do here.

12. Questions of travel by Elizabeth Bishop

In the poem Questions of Travel , Elizabeth Bishop (1911-1979) touches on subjects like travel, home, conflict and regret. This piece of travel poetry is one that depicts the pros and cons of travelling, and why we do it.

There are too many waterfalls here; the crowded streams hurry too rapidly down to the sea, and the pressure of so many clouds on the mountaintops makes them spill over the sides in soft slow-motion, turning to waterfalls under our very eyes. –For if those streaks, those mile-long, shiny, tearstains, aren’t waterfalls yet, in a quick age or so, as ages go here, they probably will be. But if the streams and clouds keep travelling, travelling, the mountains look like the hulls of capsized ships, slime-hung and barnacled.

Think of the long trip home. Should we have stayed at home and thought of here? Where should we be today? Is it right to be watching strangers in a play in this strangest of theatres? What childishness is it that while there’s a breath of life in our bodies, we are determined to rush to see the sun the other way around? The tiniest green hummingbird in the world? To stare at some inexplicable old stonework, inexplicable and impenetrable, at any view, instantly seen and always, always delightful? Oh, must we dream our dreams and have them, too? And have we room for one more folded sunset, still quite warm?

But surely it would have been a pity not to have seen the trees along this road, really exaggerated in their beauty, not to have seen them gesturing like noble pantomimists, robed in pink. –Not to have had to stop for gas and heard the sad, two-noted, wooden tune of disparate wooden clogs carelessly clacking over a grease-stained filling-station floor. (In another country the clogs would all be tested. Each pair there would have identical pitch.) –A pity not to have heard the other, less primitive music of the fat brown bird who sings above the broken gasoline pump in a bamboo church of Jesuit baroque: three towers, five silver crosses. –Yes, a pity not to have pondered, blurr’dly and inconclusively, on what connection can exist for centuries between the crudest wooden footwear and, careful and finicky, the whittled fantasies of wooden footwear and, careful and finicky, the whittled fantasies of wooden cages. –Never to have studied history in the weak calligraphy of songbirds’ cages. –And never to have had to listen to rain so much like politicians’ speeches: two hours of unrelenting oratory and then a sudden golden silence in which the traveller takes a notebook, writes:

“Is it lack of imagination that makes us come to imagined places, not just stay at home? Or could Pascal have been not entirely right about just sitting quietly in one’s room?

Continent, city, country, society: the choice is never wide and never free. And here, or there . . . No. Should we have stayed at home, wherever that may be?”

13. For the Traveler by John O’Donohue

In For the Traveler , John O’Donohue (1956-2008) describes how travelling can change us, and how enriching it is. This poem is about exploring, going on a journey and coming back as a different person – something I can relate to!

Every time you leave home, Another road takes you Into a world you were never in.

New strangers on other paths await. New places that have never seen you Will startle a little at your entry. Old places that know you well Will pretend nothing Changed since your last visit.

When you travel, you find yourself Alone in a different way, More attentive now To the self you bring along, Your more subtle eye watching You abroad; and how what meets you Touches that part of the heart That lies low at home:

How you unexpectedly attune To the timbre in some voice, Opening in conversation You want to take in To where your longing Has pressed hard enough Inward, on some unsaid dark, To create a crystal of insight You could not have known You needed To illuminate Your way.

When you travel, A new silence Goes with you, And if you listen, You will hear What your heart would Love to say.

A journey can become a sacred thing: Make sure, before you go, To take the time To bless your going forth, To free your heart of ballast So that the compass of your soul Might direct you toward The territories of spirit Where you will discover More of your hidden life, And the urgencies That deserve to claim you.

May you travel in an awakened way, Gathered wisely into your inner ground; That you may not waste the invitations Which wait along the way to transform you.

May you travel safely, arrive refreshed, And live your time away to its fullest; Return home more enriched, and free To balance the gift of days which call you.

14. The Return by Geneen Marie Haugen

Similarly to For the Traveler (#13 on this list), The Return speaks about coming back from a journey as a different person. The difference, however, is that this poem focuses on other people’s points of view, including people’s prejudice and expectations.

Some day, if you are lucky, you’ll return from a thunderous journey trailing snake scales, wing fragments and the musk of Earth and moon .

Eyes will examine you for signs of damage, or change and you, too, will wonder if your skin shows traces

of fur, or leaves, if thrushes have built a nest of your hair, if Andromeda burns from your eyes.

Do not be surprised by prickly questions from those who barely inhabit their own fleeting lives, who barely taste their own possibility, who barely dream.

If your hands are empty, treasureless, if your toes have not grown claws, if your obedient voice has not become a wild cry, a howl,

you will reassure them. We warned you, they might declare, there is nothing else, no point, no meaning, no mystery at all, just this frantic waiting to die.

And yet, they tremble, mute, afraid you’ve returned without sweet elixir for unspeakable thirst, without a fluent dance or holy language to teach them, without a compass bearing to a forgotten border where no one crosses without weeping for the terrible beauty of galaxies

and granite and bone. They tremble, hoping your lips hold a secret, that the song your body now sings will redeem them, yet they fear

your secret is dangerous, shattering, and once it flies from your astonished mouth, they — like you — must disintegrate before unfolding tremulous wings.

15. Travel by Edna St. Vincent Millay

In this beautiful piece of travel poetry by Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892 – 1950), the narrator longs to escape from their everyday life. They hear how the train goes by in the distance and dream about how it could take them somewhere new.

The railroad track is miles away, And the day is loud with voices speaking, Yet there isn’t a train goes by all day But I hear its whistle shrieking.

All night there isn’t a train goes by, Though the night is still for sleep and dreaming, But I see its cinders red on the sky, And hear its engine steaming.

My heart is warm with the friends I make, And better friends I’ll not be knowing, Yet there isn’t a train I wouldn’t take, No matter where it’s going.

16. Traveling by Nayyirah Waheed

Nayyirah Waheed has been described as “the most famous poet on Instagram”, as her poems are frequently shared on this platform.

Apart from her poems, not much is known about Waheed. She doesn’t reveal many details about her life and describes herself as a “quiet poet” – which is quite fascinating! Waheed’s poem Traveling is a beautiful example of her repertoire.

be insecure in peace. allow yourself lowness. know that it is only a country on the way to who you are.

17. On the World by Francis Quarles

On the World is another short and beautiful travel poem that describes the life of a traveller.

The world’s an Inn; and I her guest. I eat; I drink; I take my rest. My hostess, nature, does deny me Nothing, wherewith she can supply me; Where, having stayed a while, I pay Her lavish bills, and go my way.

18. Why Do I Travel by an unknown author

If you love traveling, you might relate to this poem which explains why the author travels. This piece is about what travel is all about, the adventure and the lessons it brings.

It is on the road that my inner voice speaks the loudest and my heart beats the strongest. It is on the road that I take extra pride in my wooly hair, full features and lineage. It is on the road that I develop extra senses and the hairs on my arms stand up and say “Sana, don’t go there”, and I listen. It’s when I safety pin my money to my underclothes and count it a million times before I go to sleep. It is on the road that I am a poet, an ambassador, a dancer, medicine woman, an angel and even a genius. It’s on the road that I am fearless and unstoppable and if necessary ball up my fist and fight back. It is on the road that I talk to my deceased parents and they speak back. It’s on the road that I reprimand myself, and set new goals, refuel, stop and begin again. It is on the road that I experience what freedom truly is. It is my travel that has transformed me making me a citizen of the world. When my humanness, compassion and affection are raised to a new level and I share unconditionally.

19. If Once You’ve Slept on an Island by Rachel Field

This beautiful poem talks about how travel changes you and how you will not be the same after sleeping on an island.

If once you have slept on an island  You’ll never be quite the same;  You may look as you looked the day before  And go by the same old name,  You may bustle about in street and shop  You may sit at home and sew,  But you’ll see blue water and wheeling gulls  Wherever your feet may go.  You may chat with the neighbors of this and that  And close to your fire keep,  But you’ll hear ship whistle and lighthouse bell  And tides beat through your sleep.  Oh! you won’t know why and you can’t say how  Such a change upon you came,  But once you have slept on an island,  You’ll never be quite the same.

20. Die Slowly by Martha Medeiros

Although this poem covers more than travel alone, it’s incredibly relatable!

He who does not travel, who does not read, who can not hear music, who does not find grace in himself, she who does not find grace in herself, dies slowly.

He who slowly destroys his own self-esteem, who does not allow himself to be helped, who spends days on end complaining about his own bad luck, about the rain that never stops, dies slowly.

21. Oh, the Places You’ll Go by Dr. Seuss

This is another one of my favourite poems about travelling. It was written for the children’s book “Oh, the Places You’ll Go”, which was published in 1990.

Oh, the Places You’ll Go!

Congratulations! Today is your day. You’re off to Great Places! You’re off and away!

You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes You can steer yourself Any direction you choose. You’re on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the guy who’ll decide where to go.

>> Read the full Dr. Seuss poem here

Poetry About Travel: Final Thoughts

And that was it, 21 of the best travel poems out there! I hope that you have found exactly what you were looking for in this list of travel poetry and that it gave you some inspiration.

I’m curious to hear what your favourite poem about travel is (mine are #1, #7 and 21)! Or did you come across other beautiful poetry about travel that’s not on this list? Let me know in the comments as I’m updating this post frequently.

Find more travel inspiration in the posts below:

• 56 Songs About Travel
• 21 Movies About Nomads
• 50 Solo Travel Quotes

Pin it for later: Did you find this post helpful? Save it on Pinterest and follow me on Instagram and Facebook for more travel tips and inspiration.

Laura Meyers

Laura Meyers is the founder of Laure Wanders. She was born in Belgium and has travelled to over 40 countries, many of them solo. She currently spends most of her time between Belgium and South Asia and loves helping other travellers plan their adventures abroad.

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25 Best Lines From Hindi Poems Which Are Absolutely Beautiful

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Literature has always been one of the most secure places to take refuge in – one where we don’t even have to tax our bodies physically. Words, when strung together in the right way have a unique capability to transport us to worlds we knew not of until our encounter with the ideas that took us there. Poetry is all the more the playground where the mind can wander according to its own whims and fancies – a form so beautiful that gives us all the creative space we need to arrive at a satisfactory interpretation. And it is a fact of no surprise that many of our Indian languages are extremely rich in this respect. Hindi is one among them, and a language with a treasure trove as rich as Hindi surely deserves a special mention. So, here we are, with some of the most beautiful lines from Hindi poems.

Also read: 35 Beautiful Quotes, Poems & Shayaris From Gulzar Saab

1. A profound commentary on the human similarities we share. 

2. The mystifying process of putting thoughts into words. 

3. Such a deep reflection. 

4. The power of the people. 

5. The universal longing for that one warm touch! 

6. The tale of unmatched bravery that will inspire us forever. 

7. That tune from afar, that haunts us so… 

8. A historical yet contemporary account. 

9. Time does fly, whether or not you like it. 

10. There’s more to life than what’s stopping you from realising this. 

11. A call for revolution. 

12. The sad reality of life for some. 

13. The call of every parent. 

14. Urging change. 

15. A beautiful picture created using the magic of words. 

16. What being a woman means. 

17. The nuance and rhythm in these lines is unparalleled. 

18. To all the free souls out there. 

19. The oft-used metaphor of a puppet comes alive, quite literally. 

20. The power of memories. 

21. What is the point of being alive without a hint of passion? 

22. Golden lines. 

23. Confront the dangers awaiting you instead of creating them elsewhere. 

24. The motto of not giving up. 

25. The power of identity. 

We hope you enjoyed reading these lines from Hindi poems! Let us know about any of your favourite lines we might have missed out on in the comment section below!

A student of Sociology, with a drive to make the world a better place. Finds her solace in the arts. An introvert forever trying to make peace with the chaos around her.

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• Original Fiction

From Harivansh Rai Bachchan, Amrita Pritam, Dharmvir Bharti to Mahadevi Verma, Ramdhari Singh Dinkar and Sumitra Nandan Pant, this poetry collection has the best of Hindi poetry, with varying levels of language-difficulty.

Poems of Love and Passion

This category contains thirteen poems on themes like erotica, like in Ashok Vajpeyi’s poems, which are brazen and decent (with respectful, dignified descriptions) at the same time, and portray age old ideals of shyness and ‘lajja’ of women in this aspect –

‘Vah kaise kahegi han! Han kahenge uske anurakt netra….’.

The many forms of love, the use of clichés like rain, romance and many associated others are sub-themes. Harivansh Rai Bachchan captures the pathos of reminiscence perfectly, with his use of repetition and starting sentences in passive voice –

Tha gagan kadka ki chati mein tumhe maine chipaya tha….aa gayi barsaat, mujhko aaj phir ghere hue baadal.

Poems on Wisdom

This section’s fifteen poems are great in Hindi and okay in English. Life advice is given in this Dushyant Kumar poem with honest frankness that will be appreciated –

Jaa tere swapna bade ho. Bhavna ki god se utarkar, jald pruthvi par chalna seekhen.

All the poems in this category are very philosophical in nature. The descriptions of human riots, fights and breakouts using onomatopoeia is hilarious and insightful of Bachchanji’s creative mind –

Zamza san san, ghan-ghan-garjan, kokil-kujan, keki-krandan, akhbari duniya ki hulchul, sangram-sandhi, danga-fasad.

Poems on Harmony

The ten poems of this chapter have a knack for amazing, illustrative metaphors and mainly talk about harmony between nations, religions and regimes. Two lined couplets can be seen in this Gopaldas Neeraj poem, full of rich vocabulary –

Ab toh majhab koi aisa bhi chalaya jaye. Jisme insaan ko insaan banaya jaye.

Some poems are more about patching up and balance rather than harmony, like this poem of Sumitra Nandan Pant –

…..Raag dvesh ke, prakruti vikruti ke, yug yug ke ghavo ko dhove!

Melancholia

Eight exquisitely crafted verses that reflect sadness makes this category of the Hindi poems the most profound in this collection. Vinod Tiwari’s poem tells us –

chashm-e-purnam bahi, bahi nab ahi, zindagi hai, rahi, rahi na rahi, tum toh keh lo jo tum ko kehna tha….mera kya hai, kahi, kahi na kahi.

Unfulfilled wishes are depicted in a heart wrenching manner by Bhagwati Sharan Verma –

….sach kehta hun, un sapno mein bhi tha mujhko vishwas kabhi.

In this short section of five poems, we have powerhouses like Sahir Ludhiyanvi and Ashok Anjum. Their use of satire to talk about society leaves a bittersweet after taste.

Sahir Ludhiyanvi’s poem –

….Satya, Ahimsa sab bakwaas, tum bhi katil, hum bhi chor!

Most of these poems are about politics, politicians and ill-rooted patriotism.

Ashok Anjum indirectly says things in the negative to make his point, and his poem drips with sarcasm –

….Khursi hi apna lakshya maan! Kya rashtra dharam? Kya sanvidhaan?

Translation

In the preface, translator Pavitra Mohan credits the poets with changing his worldview of many things. He also admits to using the translator’s liberty at times. How far the translator’s liberty is advisable, I do not know, but it does seem subjective as it uplifts some poems, whereas does not seem to work at all in others. The translation is unable to capture the flavour or tone of most poems and is good in the sense that it uses suitable English words for its Hindi counterparts with some mistakes here and there. However, his choice of poems for this collection is commendable.

A subtle shade of yellow adorned with off-white and beige flowers on the top and bottom of the cover make for a pleasant view. A good book cover that sits in lieu with its theme and contents.

Favourite Quote

Voh gulab ke gamle mein, muskaan lagi hai…. Todkar pehen ana..!

Analysis and Conclusion

I did not like the fact that the poems were categorised theme wise, as it seems crude and very basic. Perhaps, interspersed or divided poet wise would have worked better. None of the poems have titles and it serves as a problem in identifying them.

Overall, it is a heartfelt collection full of strong imagery and vivid emotions that will make you forget your surroundings. Each poem highlights the theme under which it is placed in its own way – by way of philosophy, wordplay, metaphors, incidents and epiphanies. Rhyming, free verse, dialogue based, couplets and other types can be seen in this poetry book. For Hindi poetry lovers, it is a dream of well-articulated assortments, and for the uninitiated, ‘it will allow them to peep in these alternate worlds and to delve in these alternate words’, as enunciated by the translator in his preface.

It is also a good reckoner for those just starting to read Hindi poetry too.

Jessica Joshi

3 responses.

Sounds great for someone who will love to have a basic idea of Hindi poems written by many stalwarts. And definitely, poems classified based on poets who wrote them makes more sense than under themes. Great review !

Thanks Pavitra, you are making it easy for me by translating these gems to understand richness of these poems, I studied Hindi literature in my high school days due to national Hindi exams, still I recollect and connect my favorite teachers in-depth engaging conversation on Pant and Kabir”s poems and explanation in Kannada. Refreshing one, I am reading at least one poem a day. Thanks again.

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• Destinations

18 Poems About Travel to Inspire Your Traveler’s Soul to See the World

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Within the depths of every adventurous spirit lies a yearning for exploration, a longing to traverse the far reaches of the Earth, and a desire to witness the wonders that lie beyond our familiar horizons.

The world is a tapestry of enchanting landscapes, vibrant cultures, and hidden treasures, inviting us to venture forth and embrace its splendor.

Through the evocative power of poetry, let us embark on a journey of inspiration and discovery , as these poems transport us to distant lands, stoke the flames of wanderlust, and awaken the traveler within. So pack your bags, open your heart to the allure of the unknown, and let these verses guide you to see the world with new eyes. Welcome to poems about travel to inspire your traveler’s soul.

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277 Life-Changing Solo Female Travel Quotes (Never Give Up and Be Fearless)

• 1. The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost
• 2. Against the Shore by Atticus
• 3. The Opportune Moment by Sheenagh Pugh
• 4. A Prayer for Travelers by Anon
• 5. Song of the Open Road by Walt Whitman
• 6. Travel by Edna St. Vincent Millay
• 7. On the World by Francis Quarles
• 8. Die Slowly by Martha Medeiros
• 9. If Once You Have Slept on an Island by Rachel Field
• 10. The Moment by Margaret Atwood
• 11. Freedom by Olive Runner
• 12. Poem About Travel by Drewniverses
• 13. Traveling by Nayyirah Waheed
• 14. P.S. I Love You by H. Jackson Brown
• 15. For the Traveler by John O’Donohue
• 16. Why Do I Travel? Author Unknown
• 17. Travel by Robert Louis Stevenson
• 18. Night Traveler by Deepa Thomas

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost  / Poems About Travel 

Against the Shore by Atticus

against the shore,

restless like

for any adventure,

that blew along her way

Against the Shore by Atticus / Poems About Travel

The Opportune Moment by Sheenagh Pugh

When you go ashore in that town,

take neither a camera nor a notebook.

However many photographs you upload

of that street, the smell of almond paste

will be missing; the harbour will not sound

of wind slapping on chains. You will read

notes like “Sami church”, later, and know

you saw nothing, never put it where

you could find it again, were never

really there. When you go ashore

in the small port with the rusty trawlers,

there will be fur hawkers who all look

like Genghis Khan on a market stall,

crumbling pavements, roses frozen in bud,

an altar with wool hangings, vessels

like canal ware, a Madonna

with a Russian doll face. When you go

ashore, take nothing but the knowledge

that where you are, you never will be again.

The Opportune Moment by Sheenagh Pugh /  Poems About Travel Journeys

A Prayer for Travelers by Anon

May the road rise up to meet you.

May the wind be always at your back.

May the sun shine warm upon your face;

The rains fall soft upon your fields.

And until we meet again,

May God hold you in the palm of His hand.

A Prayer for Travelers by Anon / Travel Poetry 

Song of the Open Road by Walt Whitman

Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,

Healthy, free, the world before me,

The long brown path before me leading me wherever I choose.

Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune,

Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,

Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,

Strong and content I travel the open road.

Song of the Open Road by Walt Whitman / Poems About Traveling Through Life

Travel by Edna St. Vincent Millay

The railroad track is miles away,

And the day is loud with voices speaking,

Yet there isn’t a train goes by all day

But I hear its whistle shrieking.

All night there isn’t a train goes by,

Though the night is still for sleep and dreaming,

But I see its cinders red on the sky,

And hear its engine steaming.

My heart is warm with the friends I make,

And better friends I’ll not be knowing;

Yet there isn’t a train I wouldn’t take,

No matter where it’s going.

Travel by Edna St. Vincent Millay / Poems About Travel

On the World by Francis Quarles

The world’s an inn; and I her guest.

I eat; I drink; I take my rest.

My hostess, nature, does deny me

Nothing, wherewith she can supply me;

Where, having stayed a while, I pay

Her lavish bills, and go my way.

On the World by Francis Quarles / Poems About Traveling the World

Die Slowly by Martha Medeiros

He who becomes the slave of habit,

who follows the same routes every day,

who never changes pace,

who does not risk and change the color of his clothes,

who does not speak and does not experience,

dies slowly.

He or she who shuns passion,

who prefers black on white,

dotting ones i’s rather than a bundle of emotions, the kind that make your eyes glimmer,

that turn a yawn into a smile,

that make the heart pound in the face of mistakes and feelings,

He or she who does not turn things topsy-turvy,

who is unhappy at work,

who does not risk certainty for uncertainty,

to thus follow a dream,

those who do not forego sound advice at least once in their lives,

die slowly.

He who does not travel, who does not read,

who does not listen to music,

who does not find grace in himself,

she who does not find grace in herself,

He who slowly destroys his own self-esteem,

who does not allow himself to be helped,

who spends days on end complaining about his own bad luck, about the rain that never stops,

He or she who abandons a project before starting it, who fails to ask questions on subjects he doesn’t know, he or she who doesn’t reply when they are asked something they do know,

Let’s try and avoid death in small doses,

reminding oneself that being alive requires an effort far greater than the simple fact of breathing.

Only a burning patience will lead

to the attainment of a splendid happiness

Die Slowly by Martha Medeiros / Poems About Why You Need to Travel 

If Once You Have Slept on an Island by Rachel Field

If once you have slept on an island

You’ll never be quite the same;

You may look as you looked the day before

And go by the same old name,

You may bustle about in street and shop;

You may sit at home and sew,

But you’ll see blue water and wheeling gulls

Wherever your feet may go.

You may chat with the neighbors of this and that

And close to your fire keep,

But you’ll hear ship whistle and lighthouse bell

And tides beat through your sleep.

Oh, you won’t know why, and you can’t say how

Such change upon you came,

But – once you have slept on an island

You’ll never be quite the same!

If Once You Have Slept on an Island by Rachel Field / Poems About Travel And How It Changes Us

The Moment by Margaret Atwood

The moment when, after many years

of hard work and a long voyage

you stand in the centre of your room,

house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,

knowing at last how you got there,

and say, I own this,

is the same moment when the trees unloose

their soft arms from around you,

the birds take back their language,

the cliffs fissure and collapse,

the air moves back from you like a wave

and you can’t breathe.

No, they whisper. You own nothing.

You were a visitor, time after time

climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.

We never belonged to you.

You never found us.

It was always the other way round.

The Moment by Margaret Atwood / Famous Travel Poems

Freedom by Olive Runner

Give me the long, straight road before me,

A clear, cold day with a nipping air,

Tall, bare trees to run on beside me,

A heart that is light and free from care.

Then let me go! – I care not whither

My feet may lead, for my spirit shall be

Free as the brook that flows to the river,

Free as the river that flows to the sea.

Freedom by Olive Runner / Poems About Travel

Poem About Travel by Drewniverses

You are not a tree. You are not bound

to the ground you walk on. You have

wings and dreams and a heart full of

wonder. So pick up your feet and go.

Spread kindness like a wildflower

wherever you go. Fall in love with the

life you live, and always leave people

better than you found them.

Poem About Travel by Drewniverses / Poems About Travel

Traveling by Nayyirah Waheed

be insecure

allow yourself lowness.

know that it is

the way to who you are.

Traveling by Nayyirah Waheed / Poems About Travel and Adventure

P.S. I Love You by H. Jackson Brown

Twenty years from now

You’ll be more disappointed

By the things you didn’t do

Than by the ones you did do.

So throw off the bowlines.

Sail away from the harbor.

Catch the trade winds in your sails.

P.S. I Love You by H. Jackson Brown / Poems About Travel Why You Need to Travel the World

For the Traveler by John O’Donohue

Every time you leave home,

Another road takes you

Into a world you were never in.

New strangers on other paths await.

New places that have never seen you

Will startle a little at your entry.

Old places that know you well

Will pretend nothing

Changed since your last visit.

When you travel, you find yourself

Alone in a different way,

More attentive now

To the self you bring along,

Your more subtle eye watching

You abroad; and how what meets you

Touches that part of the heart

That lies low at home:

How you unexpectedly attune

To the timbre in some voice,

Opening in conversation

You want to take in

To where your longing

Has pressed hard enough

Inward, on some unsaid dark,

To create a crystal of insight

You could not have known

To illuminate

When you travel,

A new silence

Goes with you,

And if you listen,

You will hear

What your heart would

Love to say.

A journey can become a sacred thing:

Make sure, before you go,

To take the time

To bless your going forth,

To free your heart of ballast

So that the compass of your soul

Might direct you toward

The territories of spirit

Where you will discover

More of your hidden life,

And the urgencies

That deserve to claim you.

May you travel in an awakened way,

Gathered wisely into your inner ground;

That you may not waste the invitations

Which wait along the way to transform you.

May you travel safely, arrive refreshed,

And live your time away to its fullest;

Return home more enriched, and free

To balance the gift of days which call you.

For the Traveler by John O’Donohue / Poems About Travel and How It Changes Us

Why Do I Travel? Author Unknown

It is on the road that my inner voice speaks the loudest and my heart beats the strongest.

It is on the road that I take extra pride in my wooly hair, full features and lineage.

It is on the road that I develop extra senses and the hairs on my arms stand up and say “Sana, don’t go there”, and I listen.

It’s when I safety pin my money to my underclothes and count it a million times before I go to sleep,

It is on the road that I am a poet, an ambassador, a dancer, medicine woman, an angel and even a genius.

It’s on the road that I am fearless and unstoppable and if necessary ball up my fist and fight back.

It is on the road that I talk to my deceased parents and they speak back

It’s on the road that I reprimand myself, and set new goals, refuel, stop and begin again.

It is on the road that I experience what freedom truly is.

It is my travel that has transformed me making me a citizen of the world. When my humanness, compassion and affection are raised to a new level and I share unconditionally.

Why Do I Travel? Author Unknown / Poems About Travel

Travel by Robert Louis Stevenson

I should like to rise and go

Where the golden apples grow;—

Where below another sky

Parrot islands anchored lie,

And, watched by cockatoos and goats,

Lonely Crusoes building boats;—

Where in sunshine reaching out

Eastern cities, miles about,

Are with mosque and minaret

Among sandy gardens set,

And the rich goods from near and far

Hang for sale in the bazaar,—

Where the Great Wall round China goes,

And on one side the desert blows,

And with bell and voice and drum

Cities on the other hum;—

Where are forests, hot as fire,

Wide as England, tall as a spire,

Full of apes and cocoa-nuts

And the negro hunters’ huts;—

Where the knotty crocodile

Lies and blinks in the Nile,

And the red flamingo flies

Hunting fish before his eyes;—

Where in jungles, near and far,

Man-devouring tigers are,

Lying close and giving ear

Lest the hunt be drawing near,

Or a comer-by be seen

Swinging in a palanquin;—

Where among the desert sands

Some deserted city stands,

All its children, sweep and prince,

Grown to manhood ages since,

Not a foot in street or house,

Not a stir of child or mouse,

And when kindly falls the night,

In all the town no spark of light.

There I’ll come when I’m a man

With a camel caravan;

Light a fire in the gloom

Of some dusty dining-room;

See the pictures on the walls,

Heroes, fights and festivals;

And in a corner find the toys

Of the old Egyptian boys.

Travel by Robert Louis Stevenson / Poems About Travel

Night Traveler by Deepa Thomas

I am a night traveler

Travel all through the night

And my bed is a sailing boat

I reach for my bed every night

And take a trip places far away

To see new things and people

I travel past the harbors

Full of anchored boats

I travel past the beaches

With swaying coconut trees

I watch the waves

Embracing the shore

I watch the kids playing

And reach out my arms

Then I touch my own bed

Here comes a flash

And my boat is back

And I am back in bed

My boat sails every night

And reach home with morning light

Never did it anchor once

Still traveling every day

Hoping to reach

That unknown destination

Night Travel by Deepa Thomas / Poems About Travel

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• Poems About Love in Hindi: A Celebration of Eternal Emotions

Love, an emotion that transcends boundaries and brings people together, has been a timeless muse for poets throughout history. In the realm of Hindi poetry, love has been a central theme, inspiring countless verses that capture the essence of affection, longing, and passion. These poems not only resonate with the heart but also showcase the richness of the Hindi language and its ability to express profound emotions. In this article, we delve into the world of love poems in Hindi, exploring their beauty and significance.

The Power of Hindi Language

"dil se teri nigaah jigar tak utar gayi, ek shola sa dil mein utar gayi. hui aankh nam aur ho gayi lahu se laal, ye dekh kar naraz kyon ho gayi", "prem gali ati sankari, tan do naina ek saath. jyon paani se nal na behai, mera mann na behai baat.", "ab ke bichhde to shayad, kabhi khwabon mein mile, jinhein kahate hain manzil, wohi raaste lete hain.", "tumhein paake bhi, khone ka darr hai mujhe, tumhein khokar bhi, paane ki aas hai mujhe.".

Hindi , one of the most widely spoken languages in the world, is renowned for its lyrical quality and expressive nature. Its poetic richness lies in the intricate weaving of words, the depth of metaphors, and the evocative imagery it effortlessly creates. When it comes to expressing emotions of love, Hindi poetry is unparalleled, with its ability to touch the deepest corners of the soul.

Classic Love Poems

One of the most revered poets in Hindi literature, Mirza Ghalib , has penned numerous timeless love poems. His verses effortlessly blend passion, pain, and longing, leaving an indelible mark on the hearts of readers. Here is one of his famous couplets:

This poignant couplet by Ghalib captures the overwhelming impact of love on the heart, as it delves into the depths of emotions and desires. It beautifully portrays the intensity of affection that can both ignite a fire within and leave one vulnerable to heartache.

Another renowned poet, Kabir Das , explores love in a spiritual context. His mystical verses often present love as a divine connection between the lover and the beloved, transcending the physical realm. One of his famous couplets is:

In this couplet, Kabir Das expresses the unity of the lover with the beloved, emphasizing that true love goes beyond the boundaries of the physical world. It beautifully portrays the notion of love as a union of souls that cannot be swayed by external circumstances.

Modern Expressions of Love

While classical Hindi poetry continues to inspire, the realm of love poems has also evolved with the changing times. Modern Hindi poets, such as Gulzar and Javed Akhtar , have created a unique space for themselves with their contemporary expressions of love.

Gulzar, renowned for his soul-stirring lyrics in Hindi cinema, has also written profound love poems. Here is an excerpt from one of his popular poems:

In this excerpt, Gulzar beautifully encapsulates the bittersweet feeling of separation in love. He suggests that even if lovers are physically apart, they can still find solace and reunion in their dreams, as dreams become the paths that lead them towards their desired destination.

Javed Akhtar, a celebrated poet and lyricist, has also contributed immensely to the world of love poetry. His profound words resonate deeply with the readers. Here is a snippet from one of his famous love poems:

This verse by Javed Akhtar reflects the beautiful paradox of love where one is afraid of losing their beloved, even after attaining them. It highlights the eternal longing and desire to continually seek and cherish love.

Love, an evergreen theme, is at the core of many Hindi poems. From the timeless verses of Mirza Ghalib and Kabir Das to the contemporary expressions of Gulzar and Javed Akhtar, Hindi poetry has beautifully captured the essence of love in all its forms. These poems not only celebrate the power of language but also serve as a reminder of the everlasting nature of love. Through their words, Hindi poets have painted vivid pictures of affection, longing, and passion, allowing readers to explore the depths of their own emotions and experiences. So let us revel in the beauty of Hindi love poetry and allow it to ignite the flames of love within our hearts.

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• > 14 Soulful Poems From Bollywood Movies That’ll Stay With You Long After The Film Is Over

Entertainment

Mar 21, 2018 at 07:15 PM

14 Soulful Poems From Bollywood Movies That’ll Stay With You Long After The Film Is Over

A lot has been said and discussed about the soulful music and lyrics of some classic Hindi film songs. But some Bollywood films also boast of having beautiful and soulful poems as well. 

Let’s take a look at some of the most intricate pieces of poetry that have featured in a number of Hindi films over the years, shall we?

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•   The best poems on travel

The best poems on travel

Discover some of the best poems about travel including verses from thomas hardy, walt whitman and edgar allan poe..

Here, we have gathered some of the greatest poems written about the allure of travel, and the wonders that can be discovered when we venture beyond our own doorsteps. 

Discover our edit of the best poetry books.

From  The Silverado Squatters 

There are no foreign lands. It is the traveller only who is foreign. 

Robert Louis Stevenson (1850–1894)

A Prayer for Travellers 

May the road rise up to meet you. 

May the wind be always at your back.

May the sun shine warm upon your face;

The rains fall soft upon your fields. 

And until we meet again, 

May God hold you in the palm of His hand. 

On the World 

The world’s an inn; and I her guest. 

I eat; I drink; I take my rest. 

My hostess, nature, does deny me 

Nothing, wherewith she can supply me; 

Where, having stayed a while, I pay 

Her lavish bills, and go my way. 

Francis Quarles (1592–1644)

If Once You Have Slept on an Island 

If once you have slept on an island 

You’ll never be quite the same; 

You may look as you looked the day before 

And go by the same old name, 

You may bustle about in street and shop; 

You may sit at home and sew, 

But you’ll see blue water and wheeling gulls 

Wherever your feet may go. 

You may chat with the neighbors of this and that 

And close to your fire keep, 

But you’ll hear ship whistle and lighthouse bell 

And tides beat through your sleep. 

Oh, you won’t know why, and you can’t say how 

Such change upon you came, 

But – once you have slept on an island

You’ll never be quite the same! 

Rachel Field (1894–1942)

Gaily bedight, 

A gallant knight,

In sunshine and in shadow,

Had journeyed long, 

Singing a song,

In search of Eldorado. 

But he grew old – 

This knight so bold – 

And o’er his heart a shadow 

Fell, as he found 

No spot of ground 

That looked like Eldorado. 

And, as his strength 

Failed him at length, 

He met a pilgrim shadow – 

‘Shadow,’ said he, 

‘Where can it be – 

This land of Eldorado?’ 

‘Over the Mountains 

Of the Moon,

 Down the Valley of the Shadow, 

Ride, boldly ride,’ 

The shade replied, 

‘If you seek for Eldorado!’ 

Edgar Allan Poe (1809–1849) 

I met a traveller from an antique land 

Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone 

Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand, 

Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, 

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command 

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read 

Which yet survive (stamped on these lifeless things) 

The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed: 

And on the pedestal these words appear: 

‘My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings: 

Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’ 

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay 

Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare 

The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792–1822)

A Strip of Blue 

I do not own an inch of land,     

But all I see is mine, – 

The orchard and the mowing fields, 

The lawns and gardens fine. 

The winds my tax-collectors are, 

They bring me tithes divine, – 

Wild scents and subtle essences, 

A tribute rare and free; 

And, more magnificent than all, 

My window keeps for me 

A glimpse of blue immensity, – 

A little strip of sea. 

Richer am I than he who owns 

Great fleets and argosies; 

I have a share in every ship 

Won by the inland breeze, 

To loiter on yon airy road 

Above the apple-trees, 

I freight them with my untold dreams; 

Each bears my own picked crew; 

And nobler cargoes wait for them 

Than ever India knew, – 

My ships that sail into the East 

Across that outlet blue. 

Sometimes they seem like living shapes, – 

The people of the sky, – 

Guests in white raiment coming down 

From heaven, which is close by; 

I call them by familiar names, 

As one by one draws nigh,

So white, so light, so spirit-like, 

From violet mists they bloom! 

The aching wastes of the unknown 

Are half reclaimed from gloom, 

Since on life’s hospitable sea 

All souls find sailing-room. 

The ocean grows a weariness 

With nothing else in sight; 

Its east and west, its north and south, 

Spread out from morn till night; 

We miss the warm, caressing shore, 

Its brooding shade and light. 

Lucy Larcom (1824–1893)

O to sail in a ship, 

To leave this steady unendurable land, 

To leave the tiresome sameness of the streets, 

the sidewalks and the houses, 

To leave you, O you solid motionless land, and 

entering a ship, 

To sail and sail and sail! 

Walt Whitman (1819–1892)

Midnight on the Great Western 

In the third-class sat the journeying boy, 

And the roof-lamp’s oily flame 

Played down on his listless form and face, 

Bewrapt past knowing to what he was going, 

Or whence he came. 

In the band of his hat the journeying boy 

Had a ticket stuck; and a string 

Around his neck bore the key of his box, 

That twinkled gleams of the lamp’s sad beams 

Like a living thing. 

What past can be yours, O journeying boy,

Towards a world unknown, 

Who calmly, as if incurious quite

 On all at stake, can undertake 

This plunge alone?

Knows your soul a sphere, O journeying boy, 

Our rude realms far above, 

Whence with spacious vision you mark and mete 

This region of sin that you find you in

 But are not of? 

Thomas Hardy (1840–1928)

Give me the long, straight road before me, 

A clear, cold day with a nipping air, 

Tall, bare trees to run on beside me, 

A heart that is light and free from care. 

Then let me go! – I care not whither 

My feet may lead, for my spirit shall be 

Free as the brook that flows to the river, 

Free as the river that flows to the sea. 

Olive Runner

Poems for Travellers

By gaby morgan.

Poems for Travellers is part of the Macmillan Collector’s Library, with an introduction from the esteemed travel writer Paul Theroux. From Walt Whitman to Christina Rossetti, this collection contains some of the finest poems ever written about travel.

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