After a peek into the world news,
I will start asking many questions to myself
in the dialect of hurling petrol bombs that,
how many names of a god are valid
in my poor dictionary of past truths?
I start eating away myself bit by bit
and save few grains for my children,
for clenching hurts and start a journey of unknown.
The debate will never end for the sake of
poetics in many me, of many avatars.
Un-self I start searching the stairs
of the tower in dark conspiracy of silence.
The night has forgotten a Mozart.The
magic flute will not play again.
“The woman or man who is a poet, or fiction writer, or playwright, or all of these, is engaged constantly in a jazz ballet of vocabularies, passions, genders, histories, perspectives, death, love, and life. The music of revelation announces itself to
magic flute will not play again.
Sadly, that is also the way I feel things are, Satish. Love and peace to you,
Regis