between my house and my office
is a long road connecting both like a snake
it head to tail
quite a venomous image of my dwelling and existence
i could have used the word
toxic
inside the car the silence is like a carpet
silence is soft and perfumed this time
it has given an ambiance for a monologue
this time there are more of myself, three
it is not a monologue anymore, there are three persons arguing
against each other's principles
the first one is saying that the second is crazy
the crazy one retorts that the first one is the usual unhappy
and withdrawn type
the third is singing a song
thinking that there must be a way to solve problems
in the lyrics of a song
the first one claims ' Is there really a problem? '
the second one says, ' How stupid can you be not knowing that problems always exist? '
the third one stops singing and with dignity
recalls that there is always
pride in restraint and
sacrifice
'Only God knows how to sacrifice' he said
'Are you telling us that we are devils? You idiot! ' the two
exclaimed in unison.
Everything seems to boil down to morality
'why should it be? ' i ask myself.
and then the three decided to go
dissolve inside me. I lost the singer, the logician,
the realist.
They are like chunks of sugar, a pinch of salt,
a drop of vinegar, mixing themselves
in my cup of tea.
there is always something that happens
which i am trying to understand when i drive my car alone
between my house and my office
like a snake that is now forming a benzene
ring
its head trying to bite its own tail
tasting its own
blood.
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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