white sheets crumpled in bed
underwear lay
on the blue carpet
the glass window is closed
and the air conditioner hums
a song
of loneliness
face on the pillow
i breathe slowly
i am not waiting for anybody
i am seeing myself in the mirror
inside my dream
i am real and i touch myself again and
again
this is a temporary room
of my own escape
i have no chains but i am bound
to nowhere again to a meaningless chatter
in this soliloquy
of my own created madness
shadows of birds and shadows of trees
cold air coming in from windows closed
i pause.
i face down and meet my
own darkness.
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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