he does not take things sitting down now
the legs have reminded them of their impatience
the hands are wary and the eyes are no longer skeptical
one must stand
one must take his stand now
the crowd is taking that one voice of the brave man
then he asks himself, what for? everything had been lost
most of himself had been taken away
and there is nothing left except the mind that he completely owns now
that thought that he will never speak about it
because if he will
the world will be lost, the castle of illusion shall crumble
and those that who know courage
for the last time
shall die
and to choose between silence and leaving away
and having to see a world ruined by another hurricane of ideas
he's rather have
what it takes the lie to survive, darkness retreating
to give way to light
another new day without change
another peaceful day with some tolerable tales
it is not the right time yet
perhaps, tomorrow, yes, perhaps when i am no longer with you.
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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