Thursday.
got a headache on Wednesday
Tuesday was bad,
and Monday was unforgiving.
negative energies are always here with me.
There is a maggot feasting on the poisoned rat.
I poisoned it last week, and days are not
that efficient to kill it without seeing
another light.
It died inside the cabinet causing us
too much disturbance.
Friday, another poem.
I hate sadness. I expect redemption.
But Friday is another usual Friday.
It cannot forget that poisoned rat
that died on a Thursday.
Saturday, i will be away on a boat
crossing the sea towards an island
Sunday, again
there is no church, It is the mountain again
No, not calvary.
It is my day with the working people.
I will eat with them
It is the day after my
5oth birthday
nothing big. 50 is nothing
but a number inferior
to 60.
So what is the big deal?
i am still, no matter what,
lengthwise or
side-wise, i am still another
dust,
unseen fungus on
the scalp of another
unwashed head.
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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