as i drove the car last night
i passed by the thick crowd of people
in a big circle
the old yellow bus stopped and
some motorcycles were
blinking their lights
the ambulance finally arrived
in short seconds
two bodies of bloody unconscious
males were hauled away
blood flowed again on the floors
of the night
i did not know who they were
what they did and what they dreamed
from where they were
the women that loved them
... i am not interested
i am tired of this routine of
deaths almost every night
i guessed another alcohol caused
mishap, perhaps
i always wanted to be back home
and it was already late at night
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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