you don't bother me
even if you leave even if you are gone for weeks
and you do not tell me where you are
if you curse me i simply listen
i am attuned to curses
since birth
i can always remember how curses
hurt for the first time
but often repeated and repeated like a chant
in fact it becomes
comforting on the idea that you still make me
feel that i exist
if you are a thorn
i refuse to be another thorn
how can a rose bloom
if we are all thorns
in the garden
of Eden?
you don't irritate me
i have all discarded what sensitivity is left inside me
there is no more
lethargy
neither can you find its opposite
that unworded
ecstacy
you see at the age of thirty
i have already known myself
well rounded stone
hard and smooth
and
freed from the freckles of feelings
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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