THERE is still light
piercing the
blinds,
it settles on the
soft spot
of the pillow
it hits the iris
of my eye
it says there is
a reason for
mornings
for mourning
for sorrow
for wings and buds
for rivers that keep on flowing
for the rain that finally stops.
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