in my world
all things move
like creepers
like strawberry
tendrils
on a very
wide field
it rains all day
but all possibilities grow here
like seeds
i like sunshine
the warmth of its kindness
but i dispensed with it
i love
the pebbles drenched with
rain
they are mute
but the have learned the silence
of their songs
in my world
i am just one of the possibilities
i am a seed
but i may decide not to grow
i may simply be
one of the pebbles that learned to love
the silence of their songs
i like it here
thick and covered
dark and damp.
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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