Saturday, 26 January 2013

On finding meanings (Dug up from a 2007 hand-written note)

Grass flutters before me,
I see your heart in there.
Insects hover around it -
Is that me?

Investing your surroundings with symbols
Is very easy when melancholic.

Cannot arise from it.
Poetry does not build itself on symbols alone.

The strain of the nerves
on your temples,
The flow of the blood in your brain,
and the barrage of images
before you
Can make poetry.

To feel,
and to write,
Are different things.

My hand writes,
as the mind tries
To find some coherence in the words. 
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