BEFORE THEY DISPERSE
What to say, what to write—
What to read, what to find?
Drift upon an old, traditional tide,
Common youngster, with a murky mind.
Is this the way I’m meant to write?
Neither the prose nor the perfect verse—
A quiet curse moving in reverse.
Let me pin this before it disperse,
Waiting for its arc to impact the universe.
Let me write– without judging myself wrong or right!
Demystify my thoughts on white, under dim-sun light.
Further, chaos finds its height—
Exactly the way I wrote all my thoughts, right?
Good or bad, valued or trashed,
For now, let us delay— no inner clash, neither lad nor lass,
Let the judgment wait— only a moment allowed to create.
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