reality is not in the red petals
of the rose
decorated with six drops of dew
it is in the prick of the thorns
piercing your skin
letting out drops and drops of
blood
it is the pain in the mind
when the body starts to move out of focus
when the heart
begins to sing the old lines of the blues
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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