resonance of reverberations: Where

Friday, 15 June 2007

Where

draft a word to fill it up
squeeze the stone to hear a cough
shut the din for a good night's sleep
peel the orange to thicken the skin

dive dive deep yet it's dark from the start
trading the wings for sticks
the breadth of burden
slow down the scene

point the needle to the north
i can't she says
i can't see
i can't find any hold yet

slip through the leaves
slip through the night
where
where is the Sun tonight

The Poet

I discussed with a colleague of mine today, that since i joined the financial institution, i've lost alot of that which used to define me. The philosopher is gone. The poet, all gone. The painter, the musician, the singer, the contemplater, they're all gone. I figured that it was a form of premature mid-life crisis (which traditionally begins at 40), so before i start piercing my ears, coloring my hair, listening to indie music and trade the family car for a 4WD, i shall embark on taking pre-emptive measures to ensure that such an incident does not ensue. This blog is dedicated to poetry, and with an underlying objective: to keep sanity in check. I aint no gawky teenager and neither am i a geeky adult. I'm just weird and let's keep it so.