Poetry is the spur of the moment
a whim fulfilled yet unsatisfied.
A shattered caleidoscope, put back
together by the hands of a child.
By the mind of an adult.
To write the poem
one must
not just
identify, project, immerge
but merge – become the poem.
One needs to slip out
of one’s mind
yield to the frenzy
the impulse of passion.
Heed the angelic beast
the daemon of old
and embrace the words.
‘There’s a poem somewhere
in here’ is an erroneous statement.
Poetry permeates everywhere.
Poetry is everywhere.

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