like the colored sands of the
Buddhist monks of Mandala
the facts of our lives
that took
us years and years
to establish
after a very careful tapestry
of our own artistic instincts,
soon shall be
gone, mixed, castles and temples
turning into
sand dunes inside our hands
and we swim to the river of time
and there let
all the sands spill back to the water
that does not just flow
but run & run.
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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