after the bloom of the dandelionsthe winds from the south come
it is time for seeding it is time for flying away
they leave now
not knowing where
they soon stop
the next batch of dandelions grow
how can there be sorrow?
These are poetic experiments. Man's quest for the poetic element never ceases. He is always caught in the eye of awe. He does not make the rules now. The rules change depending on the emotion that time and space feed him. He must see everything with his wide eyes gaping. The beginning of poetry too, like philosophy is wonder. Look and see. Do not stop wondering You are the poet. And everything is poetry. Wonder. Wander.
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