One Book of Poems is like a Novel
You do not seem to have
The heart of poetry
You do not suffer tragedy
Like a liar who always speaks the truth
A poet looks at the world
The way a man looks at a beautiful woman
As if he will be haunted by her
All day long, the poet doesn’t
Have to invent, she listens
She listens all day
Like a solider ready to liberate words
From their steadfast possession
Of definition, form, ignorance
A poet must be a psychologist
She must find secrets
And tell them in some grasping narrative
For too much feeling unearthed
Like the soul lost, a mother-tongue
There is poetry as soon as
We realize we possess nothing
Then all the world comes alive
Sometimes poetry is inspired
By the conversations of life
Other times by the readings of other poems
There you go again, plucking
My heartstrings and making
Music with them, each word
Bears the weight of your loneliness
I’ve read my own quite slowly too.
Everything you write speaks to me. I am continually amazed.
For that I am grateful, I really do like it when you share these things
That was very kind of you to say. I’d like to re-blog if I may.
Sure
Thank you. Smiles.
Reblogged this on Busy Mind Thinking and commented:
I could honestly re-blog everything Wuji writes!
Beautiful!
The last paragraph had me hooked on to it for the past five minutes.
Amazing!
Thanks, that’s sweet of you to say.
You write very beautiful poems!! 🙂
Thank you Mithai