that early morning
when the sun just comes up
from the mountain side
rising to
the cone top
a yellow butterfly as tiny
as my nail
flutters over a red rose petal
holding still
on a dew
slowing down
this small world where i live
becomes a home
my nerves rearrange their postures
resolving
an entanglement
now restive like a goat under
a sycamore tree
chewing grass
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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