a complaint reached my ears
claiming that i turned off my writing machine.

my energy these days
is running on a low, a saving mode.
and besides;
the gas prices went up
and wealth decreased.
but I'm working my ass off
and at the end of the day;
the two cheeks of it
are tired
and just want to rest.


and you can't take
a trip around the world
on poetry alone;
:well...:

and you can't buy tobacco
with words;
even the kindest,
the most elegant
words.

and back the old days,
you couldn't purchase blank sheets,
or
these present days,
pay the electricity bill;
with
passion.
well, maybe you can;
if you know the right person and his favorite position,
but
i can't.

and so many things i just wish to say,
like writing an ode to my journey
and its oddities and its tales;
that brought me up till this very day.
and the future,
as clear as it feels
for few minutes there
and then; as dark as it gets
or the depth of the abysses I've reached,
back then
and back from there.

and i love
i love
i love
this feeling
of having the
ability
to transform
the mind into
lyrics.
and the music
the music
the wonderful sounds;
of passion,
of emotions,
of the untamed mind.
and the love
the love,
for the art
and the beauty.
a burst of feelings,
the stains of ink/
acrylic/
oil/
chalk,
the fingers that are swollen from typing all night.
and the people who merit a metaphor
or at least a mention in a blast.
and the blasts

the blasts

Oh! the blasts of creativity
the endless nights of
black coffee
and cigarettes.
the rushing thoughts,
the itching skin
when the brain's wearing the finger-typing-tips
off
and all the lost words
have retired to an asylum mentally
and are
there
waiting
not so patiently,
with the lost memories
of these lost souls
i have met
on my way.

and the way
the way
the way that you speak
the way that you make me feel
the way that i like you
the way
you excite me
the way
you are
overwhelming me.

Copyrights;Poets-of-Freedom@No-Boundaries, October, 2009.