Monday, 3 December 2018

#

Musings, Monologues & Madness




"…which is not really a poem.//But if I call it one, may I be allowed//a small measure of madness?”                  

  -Jose Antonio Rodriguez


I

we do not know how many calabashes

of fermented incantations the gods 

must drink to get drunk; but we know 

that wisdom is not something the gods

give in exchange for kola nuts!

sometimes they melt it into verses & 

allow it drip in lines, from a poem.


II

but a poet’s mind is a muddy stream.

himself cannot tell you when to

come scoop a drink of clean water,

for his lingering darkness is a (night)mare

which he rides & gallops till dawn.

even on nights, when he sleeps with 

stars under his eyelids, he awakes 

with tiny pieces of broken dreams 

in the corners of his mouth.


III

so when you see him at a park, 

having a conversation with a statue, 

& laughing real hard; when you see

him sip from a glass of solitude or

catch him in a romantic dance with his shadow,

understand that a poet is a wild man,

& you cannot tame him,

for no one suckles the nip

of curiosity and remains sane.





2 comments: