Lost and Found
The very word Poetry…sounds rhythmic as rhyme…
As tho; conch shells reciting their hymn
As if, the pebbles giving tunes to the streams
As in, thoughts forming a poets dream.
Honestly; in the absence of my mind
I don’t know what poetry is all about.
And I don’t know, if any poet knows …
In their presence of mind; as well.
What is that, that makes me know (that) its poetry?!
That which makes me write as poetry…I don’t know?
Is that the spark of a notion that makes its noise?
In the most beauteous mindset, there’s this- the mind voice!
Emitting from within or speaking from nowhere; truly
That which, in its rendition on paper; turns to be as poetry.
I go cynically insane, as an absent minded man
But to bring it down on paper- it’s a cool thing to happen.
A mathematical equation sounds abstract to me, as GOD to an atheist
As poems might sound void for a mathematician or a scientist.
But,a poet visualizes a thought, transforming from that of words to verse
Where from… form, shape & pattern take their editing sword.
I go days, weeks sometimes years have passed by
Me not writing a verse, or thinking where the matter lies
Poetry; wherefore are you as my passion, savior & grit
However, I’m nothing & nowhere- as in lost & found somewhere.
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