About me and my poetry,
Its simplicity and its glade.
I said, well that is it.
The way I write and my thoughts.
He wasn’t satisfied and yet he nodded down,
Our converse came to an end.
He parted and I too made my way,
In the piazza I stopped,
I turned around.
I found myself all alone.
My inner voice spoke,
Why do you fear?
I was aghast, I smiled.
Again I walked.
Darkness surrounded me,
I was in my bed,
Friend’s query and my inner voice,
Both came to glare at me,
I had a stroke, a choice of one,
I had choose my voice,
My inner voice.
I knew what I learnt from this,
This world is an idiom, smaller it is.
Every word and illusion over.
What I see cannot be peek otherwise.
What I think cannot be feel otherwise.
So who is who to ask me?
About my poetry and me.
6-12 aug 2004
wr
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