the wall clock
takes the shape
of a wooden table
and the hands of
time stop
sounding the hours
of a happy life
the twigs of our
hard earned
learning cannot
withstand
what is set to
happen on
murderous
moments of
a martial law
a mountain of beliefs
the green valley of of
principles which we accept
from a dictator
as solid and unchangeable
are at a distance
paradise but when we
arrive there
was a horror
we try to define our
perspectives
and reinvent our molten
selves
when i was a child
i felt the swiftness of time
on a hot summer day
upon an ice drop on my hand
and tongue licking sugar on
water upon a bamboo stick
on an assigned usual essay
how i spent my summer vacation
my mind whirled in search for
satisfaction with my old teacher
in mind: how to make her happy?
enjoying jackfruit flavored
ice candy in the store nearby
with only one peso in my pocket
in 1970
i was thinking how to sell time
and make most money from
mere words, mere scrap.
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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