the difference between
you and me
is not the sameness of
our miseries
the difference is that you
are an open window
that has closed again
but i am a window that i
broke and never close
because there is no more reason
to keep me closed i am
sinfully opening to the
changes of the clouds &
the course-less drifting of the wind
i do not pay attention
to direction now
except perhaps on the basics
of having to feed my day to
day existence
when you arrive here
i am no longer myself
and then you leave
saying i am the useless wind
of the house and i deserve
no room at all
early in the morning
before i become myself again
words rain in my eyes
like tears
salt to my tongue and
biting
i want to put them in a
bowl
treat them like salad
days
but i do not eat words
neither do you
so i let them pour
on the vacancies of the
floor and they drip on
the earth and
gone & i said i have no
time for thoughts
thoughts do not help me
find my arms
i rush to go and be myself
again
on the wings that you
detest
above everything else
i resume
catching breaths
like words
feeding myself like
paper
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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