the night is very cold here
on top of Mt. Malindang
the old woman sits on the ground
(there are no chairs here)
puts her arm on her knee
and begins to roll a
leaf which she dried under
the sun the whole day
she tears a small portion of the tobacco leaf
rolls it on the other leaf and then she
lights the roll on the gas lamp
she puffs her smoke
to the moon.
everyone understands
what silence is all about
there are no more stories
from exhausted bodies
the souls are rested
on top of wilted grass
and then everybody is
fast asleep
for tomorrow's same work.
i am new here and i
am beginning to understand
what is this big mountain
all about?
why is it here
and why the people are not
at all complaining?
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