the night is
a mannequin
and we are
the recent
harlequins
in the room
the night is
no longer a mystery
it is colder
and the lights are not
turned off
because of fear
dimmer
like promises
the floor is silent
like the carpets
the dusts invade
like a catacomb
ambient
the scenes outside
are horrible
dead birds hanging
themselves
on the twigs of
a fungal tree
nevertheless
a bunch of ripe guavas
wait still
to be picked by some
hands of the
boys.
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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