I Get off the room
late bed to meet a perfect day
i sit alone
on the seventh stair facing the road
it starts to rain
gusty winds from the sea are arriving
hair is blown away
some dreams too
there is this joy you know
by simply watching
busy people rushing for shelter
waters beginning to rise on the road
you are not disturbed
nobody touches you
you are no less than that railing
that corner of the store
that road sign
that because of too much familiarity in the street
nobody asks
no one minds at all
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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