father left a fortune
for the five of us, the mountains,
the three sisters are snobs
and a brother likes it there in
Tunisia,
i am left with skills perhaps
to convince you to stop
stealing from us.
Father is right.
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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