outside the
white bud blooms
alone on an array of
heart shaped leaves
how pure
how undisturbed
how lonely
shall it be
under the clear
white linen sky
(perhaps,
my thoughts alone,
but nothing
jibing with what
it really is,
as usual)
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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