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All poetry ...

just a figment of imagination !

 

Nothing there to really write about ...

Standing stones, descending lights ...

flying airplanes ...

 

What is there ?

 

Roses blooming from the soil,

Bees roaming, petals falling,

pollen spreading ...

 

Cool water of the fountain,

clouds hanging ...

kids playing ...

 

What more is there ...?

 

......

....

..

 

Me watching ...

or, eyes watching ...

 

me watching myself ...

emotions rising, fallings ...

 

that kid's smile ...

that bird in water ...

that bird's flight ...

the blue sky ...

 

Me watching ...

emotions rising ...

sometimes, utter emptiness ...

 

lips perched ...

fingers bent, ...wrists slightly tingling

excess of " .... "

 

heads bent on side,

as if heavily drunk,

half unconscious, yet alive, ...aware ...

 

heart beating, ...unconcerned, unconnected ...

 

What more is there ?

 

 

 

 

 

 

!

 

 

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.....

 

So,

 

Why do I write,

why do I post,

 

that, which can be said to be nonessential,

even nonsense,

or just imagination ?

 

What is its purpose,

the meaning and the goal ?

 

Can it benefit,

....can it change a single soul ?

 

 

Maybe yes, maybe not ...

 

 

But, then,

 

Why do I exist,

what is my purpose,

what is my meaning,

....None whatsoever !

 

 

Why I am,

why I am here ?

 

Why do I exist,

To whose benefit it is,

Who is there needing ?

 

No one,

....none whatsoever ?

 

 

But, do I really exist,

or is me too just a figment of imagination ?

 

I sleep, I dream,

I dream of a self, of existing, of being ...

 

I open my eyes,

....and, the dream disappears !

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Do I even know,

 

what is good and bad ...

 

 

 

me, myself ...

 

 

 

Am I certain,

 

am I sure ?

 

 

 

Does the flower know its fragrance,

 

or, does the soil know it stink ?

 

 

 

Does the water flow to grow the plants,

 

or does it flow to flood, drown children or ...end the draught ?

 

 

 

 

 

Does it really care,

 

does it really plan ?

 

 

 

Does the flower controls its destiny,

 

does it evaporates with heat,

 

freezes with cold,

 

....and flows with elevation ...

 

 

 

 

 

who does it flow for,

 

for the plants and humans

 

or for flies, mosquitoes or viruses ...

 

 

 

Does it really know ...

 

Does it really care ?

 

 

 

But, you are Not Water,

 

you say ...

 

 

 

And, yes, you are Right,

 

....but, perhaps, that is the Only Problem ...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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To exist

 

is to resist.

 

 

 

to flow is

 

to be at ease.

 

 

 

To resist is

 

to be a ‘me’.

 

 

 

To accept is to be

 

one with ...what is.

 

 

 

.....

 

 

 

 

 

.....

 

 

 

 

 

The existence flows ...

 

 

 

from my father’s veins

 

to my mother’s womb.

 

 

 

From seed of grapes

 

to the bottle of wine to my blood.

 

 

 

....each with Consequences !

 

 

 

 

 

Yet, a seed of grape

 

is oblivious to its own impact.

 

 

 

It opens, it grows,

 

it plants, its flowers, it fruits

 

ripens and gets into a bottle.

 

 

 

 

 

Yet, the seed

 

has no image of me.

 

 

 

the subject to the soil,

 

sun and wind.

 

 

 

it neither desires

 

nor resists.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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