Traveling keeps me excited like a calf in summer,
new legs learning the language of open fields,
kicking against the weight of stillness,
running simply because the sky is wide.

I do not ask the road for permission.
It calls, and I answer with footsteps,
with a heart that refuses fences,
with eyes that drink in unfamiliar suns.

Each place teaches me a different rhythm:
the hush of mountains at dawn,
the laughter of markets spilling into streets,
the quiet stories written in strangers’ eyes.

It does not carry memories only.
It carries internal healing,
the kind that stitches broken places in silence,
the kind that gives a reason to live again.

If you want to get me a birthday gift,
Get me a flight ticket to the Makgadikgadi Pans,
let me crawl down the desert,
feel the earth against my skin like truth.

Let me scream
not in fear, but in release
while I am engulfed in the Chobe forest
and the thunder of Victoria Falls,
where water remembers how to fall
and still rise again.

Don’t get me wrong
budget like a whistling snake,
tight, careful, intentional,
But pay yourself first,
because even survival deserves softness,
And even dreamers must eat.

I am never lost
only returning to myself,
again and again,
with dust on my shoes,
healing in my bones,
and a restless joy,
that still runs wild,
like a calf in summer.

Poem Description

On the surface, it honours mobility, liberty, and exploration. The first picture, “like a calf in summer,” conveys a sense of unadulterated, natural happiness. A calf runs because it is alive, not because it has a destination. That establishes the tone: travelling for you is about feeling alive again, not about tourism. The route takes on metaphorical meaning as the poem progresses. It stands for freedom of choice, agency, and release from captivity. You are taking back control of your life when you announce that you don’t ask the road for permission. The “fences” allude to constraints that you are escaping, whether they be social, emotional, or even spiritual.