you are old now.
when i step into the room
i could have told you
but you are the one always speaking
"the king can do no wrong"
i look at the pile of books
silent damn books
i am following your footsteps
into that
hateful anonymity
when time brings us all here
we are told
we have not really done anything great
the books of our lives
will be consisting of empty pages
you were so engrossed in speaking
and i am lost in my
boredom
i was thinking of those that have not arrived here
those who have also given
hope like me but they are still in some unknown places
i turned off my cell phone
this time i must confront the void
into speechlessness
into my failures
for what i have not done
before i left the room i took one book
it is not that the king can do no wrong
there is no king.
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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