Oh dear friend, would you convey my message if you travel to the mystical land of the Incas.
Could you find that old lady who guided me to the bus and tell her that I dream of her hair as I dream about the Himalayan snow.
Could you find that little mystery-eyed girl who would be bigger by now and whisper to her that I would come again to play the game of “donde estas” with her in her home.
Could you tell that German girl who loved my maroon, llama-wool sweater that she had the prettiest eyes and the most gentle face.
Could you tell that Peruvian boy who was a host at a restaurant just a lane away from the central plaza that some night I would come dance with him in his dreams.
Could you tell that old man who sold amatista stones at the plaza and had a few-moths old daughter that in those few minutes, when I held his daughter in my arms and threw her up in the air and caught her back and she shrieked with excitement and her father’s face gleamed with pride, I felt at home, away from home.
Could you find that tour lady with a benevolent face and a gentle smile, who sits in her office all day and help travelers create memories, that I lost her card, but I carry the places she guided me to in my heart.
Could you tell those two workers who shared their beer with us that I shared their story and their photo with the world.
Could you tell the guy who made scrambled eggs at the hostel that I have almost stopped eating eggs and chicken and anything else that come close to causing any harm to the animals.
Could you tell that rainbow cloud that he has to shine again, for I would visit soon, to hear the sound of the train chugging away into the faraway green pastures which were fringed with hills, over whose head he was afloat.
Could you tell that generous old woman who complimented my light-brown eyes that the conductor whom she had ordered to take care of me left me on a wrong corner but I found my way and that I still remember how she and I held each other’s hands.
And when you have delivered my messages,
Could you lay in the lap of the night and watch the stars bejeweling the deep-blue sky,
Could you whisper to those Inca ruins that I would lie down in their lap again,
Could you whisper to the soft soil and the bright grass that I would feel them against my feet again,
Could you go to the moon temple and run along the gurgling stream that wet my friend’s shoes and mine too,
so that we had to run barefoot on the green-grass damp with dew,
until our noses turned tomato-red and our cheeks turned onion-pink,
our hearts overflowed with child-like joy and we left them in those deep valleys forever.
Could you breathe for a few minutes with those throbbing hearts?
Could you find that little girl who ran into the arms of nature
and floated with the crisp air
and settled in the pinks of the blooming buds.
What do you think about when you think of your past travel trips?