Poetry

 

As always –

Nothing new in the old words
Old is the world that renews itself

Still loathing

For space, for time, For faith

Heads bursting,

Hearts exploding –

With ideas, too big to stay inside

And too abstract, too complex

For academia

Feeling too real, at the same instance

Emotions, too intense to confine them within

The body

And thoughts, too extreme to expose to the world.

Although, not really new and far

From radical enough.

Words are too limiting to express

The sound of the soul when it’s touched.

A touch, too fragile to be caught –

One might try

To colour it, dip it all into paint and throw it onto a canvass

Yet – even then – you merely imprint

the rough shape of it
The essence of it all escaping the capture

Maybe that’s better –

Some things need the escape,

The fluidity which provides freedom

Just like poetry-

Which vanishes once you start analysing it.

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