The poet is a surface not polished, but writing a photon strikes, and language leaps free, not electron but utterance, charged with departure E = hf – φ the threshold of silence, the barrier of flesh, the boundary of memory some light passes through, some dies, unheard, but one frequency just one ! releases the word, and suddenly matter is better to be seen ! if not by the retina, heart see(s) who are we? we pen with poetic prowess, carving paths through Eden of entanglement, each trail, glittering with dilemmas, each fork, whispering the elegiac enigmas, as i f the stars themselves conspire to scatter all the riddles on these pages voilà why do people always ask us to explain all the entangled knots could be mapped in a single sentence? oh isn’t it obvious? this is why we write... because mind cannot untangle the roots of these g o r d i a n knots with plain speech, so we lay them down in verses, each line, a fragile Ariadne’s thread, guiding mind out of the dark corridors where language fractures and light bends........... inexplicably ...... complicated and articulated...... in that they pluck petals without feeling do not descend into the well, they skim the surface, parading this thing and they call it wisdom... yeah .. ' whizz - dome ' cuts the verses deeper than the questions left unspoken we write not to be explained but to be felt, each word, uncoiling like serpents, each phrase, dissolving the labyrinth’s walls poems are (not) broken pieces gathered in trembling quill, remade into constellations soothing what speech could never mend our equation. a gordian knot ouroboros coil the invisible guardian and again if not by the retina, heart see(s) eye (s) rise turquoise pulsar above the shrine like l i g h t remembering its path through the parastratatum of our mind... m e t r o n o m y memory within memories I rise with turquoise pulsar below shrine I breathe behind time’s golden breath chrono’s violet rise, within rhythm, we shine. One start On star Ost s.
