the beginning is chaos
so the end shall be, also chaos
there is no order, there is even
no beginning, there is no systematic ending
wanton is the conception and
disorder is the truth, not that this is what you see
today or tomorrow or yesterday they are all one
there is no space in between
yet you refuse to believe and you write
to please everyone and make them believe
in the pleasing personality of the world of
rhymes and clock ticking at the middle of the night
you perceive order and you organize the system
please yourself and then suddenly
tears fall on the letters and smother the print
of your orderly paper world
you suffuse anger on the pen
i ponder upon the blot and rethink what i think was always right
back to chaos, i ask how can you like the rhyme and the rhythm?
how can you ever live in this fantasy?
in my free verse, i say what i say, and life speaks to me
like i am life itself, and freed from hypocrisy, the truth gets in
jagged, rugged, and pulsating
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Ric You did not waste ink on this poem.nice work