he never for once
imagined that he could kill
killing
the simple thought of killing
makes him puke
he tried once
killing a fruit fly
in a snap
reasoning that it infected
its dessert
that whole night
he could not sleep
for he was
worn with guilt
his brother is a moron
the worst in class
makes most of the fame
by killing
many fruit flies
he is the top of his class
but he laughs at him
short of respect
for his fear of killing
"it is a phobia" his brother says
and just like everything else
runs berserk and
becomes an unreasonable
generalization
let me cut this story short
he did not make money
waddled in poverty and
feared the art of killing
helpless n& useless in-himself
his wife
deserted him and his kids
lost that respect
because he will never kill
a fly again
i do not want to make this
story long and
agonizing,
know what?
he killed himself.
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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