poetry is not
social climbing
it's stairs somehow
are not easy to make
hands are trembling
and body is having
its uncalled for seizures.
when i am lost
poetry is a map.
when it is messy
it becomes a mop.
when life becomes
harsh, unbearable
or questionable,
although poetry does
not provide the answers,
but it creates an ambiance
for solitude where life
smooths out like a
flatiron to my crumpled
shirt, it's a hammock
where i can sleep and
a checklist what to do
for the rest of the
shaky hours.
the word is therapy.
it embraces those who
belong to the category
of the injured, the confused,
the stricken, the bleeder,
the crying loser,
who goes out of the flock
jumps over the fence,
steals the moon,
sifts the light of the sun,
decants poison, concocts
a potion, and
like those goldfish
or salmon or koi
run counter the flow
and rage against all
odds
to become enlightened
to be cured, to be whole
again,
to be integrated again
to life, to the pulse, to
glory, to Light to God.
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