I HAVE written so many.
When i go back, i will be lost
in the labyrinths of my own words.
my paths, and my own losses.
I have written much, yet
I am here, i have not written any.
i lay my hand, open,facing the ceiling
THE fingers are blind.
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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