it is the same over and over again,
no change, nothing unfamiliar,
the terrains we master,
the confrontations too boring,
all words, no images, nothing about
metaphors, trains and rails, sky and grass,
winds coming, and eddies leaving,
air filled with dust, leaves blown away,
women with straw hats,
hands of children, whistles of husbands,
what more can this world give us?
perhaps, a global erasure.
when we all perish, when no one blames
anybody anymore
when cockroaches begin their rule.
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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