he can strike a note on the side of the glass
with his fork and then begin to sing or hum
an old tune and retain the lyrics in his mind
and move on till the last line
he talks about it without any emotion involved
nothing personal anyway he keeps on murmuring
this is pure recollection, those tea and dates when
he had a good time in the desert with her when
what surrounds them are the uninterested sands
when the sun keeps the heat as they cool themselves
inside the car as their lips keep burning as
he keeps on licking what does not hurt
he is a good conversationalist who talks alone
responsive to the demands of his solitude.
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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