painting the wall white is what is done this morning.
removing the stains and the marks of wrongs
some spits and phlegm sticking
and we wonder if this shall please him
he who had died a long, long time ago
who wished all the walls are white and neat
and clean.
who wished that it will be like his body
or his soul, but then there was not enough time.
he never wished to die
that early and so dirty.
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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