i have had
that round faced
stone in
my hand
i felt its potential
for perfect
roundness
it was smooth and it
could make
a difference
it could be something
greater
beyond itself
beyond the concealment
of my hand
i see time shrinking
like a drying bubble
of rain
on the ground
and so i threw the stone
away
no one knew it
i was not that interested really
about potentials
or about
perfection
time shrank
what is the use of hope?
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.
No comments:
Post a Comment