the mirror is always a good metaphor
for solitude, on cold nights, the mist sticks
on the glass,
despite the coldness
in solitude
you sweat, there is heat inside you
warm body, groping hands,
the mirror faces you, blames you
and ask: where have you been
for all those years?
(sigh, emote, undress,
on uncut pubic hair, somehow you manage
an attitude of
purity)
i am here with you.
all these years.
i am. Faithful as a
rose tattoo.
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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