pure nonsense, pure wisdom

The other day I was reading Neruda….that poem ..”and it was in that age, poetry arrived in search of me…” and it was so exquisite…autumn testament was always a favourite but this sort of took my breath away and I sms-ed a friend saying that there is nothing in the world quite as beautiful, (in every sense of the word ) as poetry. Not even the full moon on Chilka. Later I retracted my statement and said that it really depended on the mood. And the man who made me choose words over the full moon on chilka is saying that all he wanted to do was to learn about life from life itself…

“I'm going down into the streets.
I learned about life
from life itself,
love I learned in a single kiss
and could teach no one anything
except that I have lived
with something in common among men,
when fighting with them,
when saying all their say in my song.”

I want to learn about life too. I think that’s the only way you can actually write poetry. And feel poetry. And poetry comes in search of you…and you break your heart loose on the winds…Reading books…or rather only reading books somehow amounts to living life by proxy. The older I get the more I realize the absolute indispensability of books in my life, and the paradoxical inadequacy. I want more now. I want to live. And learn love through a single kiss.