the mind as usual is at its selfish tour
it says after a hard day's work it deserves to be pampered by such experience
it goes to places where it has never been
and meets what in reality should not have been
it wears the uninhibited wings and arrives on such prohibited portions
hopping and hoping to find what it thinks it must find
upon arriving there it looks around and finds desire
mostly lust to be blunt about it
the one that it cannot hold when time is sane and sober
when it is at the embrace of logic and reason
it loses itself in some dark nooks
and meets the characters of this fiction
the dances begin
the drunkenness is bottle by bottle
and the unimaginable wildness is from one forest tree to another
then a hand with the faces of some shadows tries to pull his body
and signals where and how insanity must be
fulfilled somehow
at that moment
he stands still and remembers
yet not removing the masks and fingers
he ponders
that this cannot be
that this has gone beyond what it can take within
lest there will be bursting and
later on the scattering and the eventual dying
of the spirit
there are things which are too beautiful and yet cannot be touched
&
so
he backs out and flies away
coming home the mirror sees and does not say anything
but the welcome gestures are clear
the house opens its arms
the windows greet him about a beautiful bright day
the self who is king and sane is now in
breakfast is ready and
the morning news on TV is on display
there is no murder
and there is nothing about slander.
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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