How to begin
the journey of truth?
it was moving away from all paths.
No concrete answers were there,
questions loomed large,
a moaning confusion reigned.
I moved inward,
to open the door,
I had to talk to my poems.
A beautiful truth,
hangs on my thoughts disempowering.
Engaging the years, of twisted happenings.
It cannot be rude, must be palpable,
must be soft, like cactus bloom.
Never turning,
away from heat.
This repetition of reality,
always helps,
I may not listen to the voice,
of the other side of faith.
But the chaste words,
surround me with dignity.
“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
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