Over the years I have come to believe that poetry and I simply don't mix. It is either because I lack the poetry appreciation gene or the hours of being made to memorize daffodils by rote. I never could appreciate almost all poetry. Except for a few rare exceptions like The Raven, poetry just doesn't do it for me.

Yesterday I came across the following poem by Walt Whitman titled 'Facing West from California’s Shores' and for some reason, I was drawn into it.

Facing west, from California’s shores,	 
Inquiring, tireless, seeking what is yet unfound,	 
I, a child, very old, over waves, towards the house of maternity, the land of migrations, look afar,	 
Look off the shores of my Western Sea—the circle almost circled;	 
For, starting westward from Hindustan, from the vales of Kashmere,
From Asia—from the north—from the God, the sage, and the hero,	 
From the south—from the flowery peninsulas, and the spice islands;	 
Long having wander’d since—round the earth having wander’d,	 
Now I face home again—very pleas’d and joyous;	 
(But where is what I started for, so long ago?
And why is it yet unfound?)

Since reading it I have been trying to figure out what Whitman was writing about. What do you think this poem is about?

In order not to influence your opinion about this poem, I am screening all comments to this post. I will collect screened comments for a week and then unscreen them.