O! Poet, Walk through me.
....a poet is a being
who spells poetry.
He buys from
and carries his goods in
silent taverns of
only to weave
the latticed-warbles of
of trust and life.
To many it appears
that the poet works
but he is only motionlessly
tendering and creating .....
journeying as a being
that does not die
but moves from
body to body
mind to heart
from many to many
only to re-establish
the unity of rhyme and rhythm.
Walk through me
I am the world to which I belong
I live in a world that
Wakes and sleeps with me.
Days that carry dates to me,
And propose that I accept the supposition,
That all sunrises belong to an endless chain
From continuum to continuum.
I spend myself in hours
That pay for their burden by safekeeping
Parts of me in their past-folds,
Engaging me in the novelty of the unseen forthcomings,
Sublimating nano-seconds run for refuge,
While my consiousness unravels realms,
dives in mediums and resurges to
Listlessly, nights lie
Holding my hands,
Curling around my shoulders,
And try to predict my dreams,
Belonging to a world that was born with me
And shall die with me.
Gradually losing all I know,
I am unable to find myself in the world.
Trying to believe that I survided this long,
In a world that I do not belive in,
In a world that does not believe in me.
I am the world to which I belong,
And in that belonging seek you.
~ Anand is an architect /poet and works for "Poetry as an art of