Tuesday, June 20, 2017

I don't Know . . .

It’s not easy to explain something
that I myself don’t understand.
Maybe that’s why I try
poetically.

Difficulties and setbacks never quell my curiosity.
A swarm of new questions
emerges from every challenge I face.

Whatever inspiration is,
it’s born from a continuous
 I don’t know.

So many of my churchgoing friends simply know,
and whatever they know is enough for them
once and for all.

They don’t want to find out about anything else,
since that might diminish their security.

But any knowledge that doesn’t lead to new questions
quickly dies:
it fails to maintain the temperature
required for sustaining life.
In the most extreme cases from ancient and modern history,
it even poses a lethal threat to society.

This is why I value that little phrase
I don’t know
so highly.
It’s small,
but it flies on mighty wings.

It expands the space within me
as well as those outer expanses
in which our tiny Earth hangs suspended.




In daily speech,
where we don’t stop to consider every word,
we all use phrases like ordinary,
as in the ordinary course of events.

But for me,
in my poetry,
where each word is important,
nothing is usual or normal.
Not a single stone and not a single cloud above it.
Not a single day
and not a single night after it.
And above all,
not a single existence,
not anyone’s existence in this world,
certainly not mine,
nor yours.

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