the most recent trend of
this poetry thing is
this confession
where one simply expresses his
angst, or woes,
sometimes trying to express
overjoys
where there is no ear of a priest
listening
but you take the world's attention
to your murmurs
it is not noise
but a hum, it has nothing to do with
a cure
but just a tapestry of words
moving freely like a molecular theory
of freedom and randomness which
belittles
the power of fate
we believe in destiny
we go there surely but this is the place
where
we defy gravity
where we tease the lines of our palms
rebel against the soothsayers
break the crystal balls
anything goes here
rhyme or none
it is a surge, a sailing, a stroll
it is waving hands and throwing spits,
it is holding you
without restraints
it is walking and talking and no one bothers
they understand
you are in a trance of your sorrow
walking helps
ideas flow and you are carried to
the mouth of the river towards the open sea
everythying happens
without a boundary
i submit, it is not meant to be understood
or even recalled or kept
or sculpted
for it is the wind, and the shore,
it is the seagull and the fish and the kingfisher
and the cloud
this is poetry to me,
beyond science, beyond law.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem