the man is actually a bird
(though his wings are made invisible by this words)
it is ready to fly and fly high and
away from all the islands and trees
dreaming of a desert of stones and sands
and become a wanderer without water testing if
a bird somehow survives this new dimension
clouds all, air abundant, horizons unlimited, space and space
the space that husbands always tell their wives
at night when sleep is strange
the wall which had always longed to talk
keeps on mocking, why will it always be about birds and stones?
deafening silence
redeeming solitude, these are the reasons
don't you feel that moving away is also a diversion
from things that are too near that looks like a rope that is choking?
(sigh) love those stony stings.
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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