Kurt Ravidas Poet Rhyme

Old Fountain Pen

I'm born again! I am disgusted with
myself, with an imperishable pith
of me, a sort of enmity akin
to xenophobia: the human being
I see in mirrors is a guest from far,
a very far off world. How dare you are
embezzling me - the soul, the mind, the name! 
Well, name is yours but what about the same
old fountain pen I thought I left behind?
Oh, sweet oblivion I failed to find!
The death is cheating... On the other hand,
perhaps, it's not so bad for us, my friend.

To die, to be embodied and again
to fill the dearest old fountain pen.

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Caren Krutsinger April 26, 2019 at 5:33 AM We are replenished, with new ink, we never fully fade away; I often wonder if we recognize our works if they still linger in places upon our return? Kurt Ravidas April 26, 2019 at 5:56 AM Hmm, interesting question. I'll have to think about it.

Gershon Wolf April 25, 2019 at 12:33 PM Careful what you wish for there,...'Tis not alone my inky cloak,...nor customary suits of solemn black, nor windy suspiration of forced breath,..." (Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 2)… Interesting ink once again, my poetic friend. ~ Gershon Kurt Ravidas April 25, 2019 at 5:42 PM Thank you, Wolf. And Hamlet too)

Kim Rodrigues April 25, 2019 at 8:17 AM Lovely sentiments! Kurt Ravidas April 25, 2019 at 8:23 AM Thank you, Kim)