we sleep because we are too
exhausted
not really because we are enslaved
by the king of
work
but we are
we have become the kings and queens
of too much worried
preoccupying ourselves with
this state of
unfeeling
this loneliness that has dawned in our
days
widely awake to an unacceptable reality
dress in such a fashion of
denial
afraid that we shall be the first breakers of
the law of tradition
people shall mock us at the sacred
places
scared and scarred for soon
we shall be ostracized like
over-sized ostriches
our heads cannot be contained in closed cages
we want to fly
but we are too big for flight
we sleep because we are too exhausted with the sameness of our faces
years have made us twins
and we do not really like it
we need more moments of silence to make a wall
to change us away from a familiarity that is killing
what we want in love
there is no fire where we sleep
we are sculptures heavy on our bed
dusts have accumulated on stuffed toys
teddy bears that need to be discarded
our words are enough to promulgate its judgment
we still like it when we hesitate to say and choose not to say
what hurts.
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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