Relatives —Ankandas

Those eyes dazzled through the night forest,
the wet look of a blue bull.
In a desert,
in a journey,
in a marital friction,
In a middle class afternoon,
finding those eyes…
that’s all there is.
Being a poet mostly means to go away from words and say as little as possible
and it takes a whole lot of courage to allow yourself to be broken again and again.
Going to the poetry is to go to that gloom forest,
the free roaming blue bull and an unknown wind,
the place where everything is covered in liquid illumination.
Now I believe in reincarnations,
reincarnations in one life.
Our thoughts make the world it is
and when we go from one to another thought the world changes, the dimensions change…even the memories too.

Read more —Ankandas

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: