Humble and oriented by muses
found in shelters of nature and emptyness
fitting words into concaves
trying to intersect the line of what
has lived within me
outside
at my side
In thoughts
in ancient trains that followed rails or trails and stepped into fails and raise
silent dreams
noisy voices
cricket songs
bouncing balls
and overtones.
A voice will just step in where silence or noise are manifest
like insects
or like plants that shelter insects
or plains that shelter plants
and mushrooms
and empty rooms making the perfect space for wall paintings
or future ancient writings
trying to comprehend why humans are here
trying to hear aliens with tinfoil on their heads
or painting beads on strange clothes
that keep us warm in cold
when we are trying to decipher
the strange words put together
in ancient writings.
Maybe its life itself calling names on brains
or nature's nurture principle calling words for all of us who felt lost
or fell
or fail in feeling okay
or felt okay by caressing the wild scum shelter beneath the old carpet in front of the painted walls in an empty room.
Maybe I'm not comfortable in wide blank spaces
we need shadows where there is excess of light
so letters aranged
filling spaces
as water fills empty vases
or oolong tea fills empty cups.
Maybe there's a humble voice trying to fit the words as pertinent as they come in misguided thoughts, revealing darkness
making light with shades.
Maybe there was a broken mill somewhere and an accident led to civilization
and civilization led to bigger accidents
with just a purpose
naming accidents
calling names and perpetrators
computers that will find all the nation's traitors
or just the menu of a chinese restaurant that filled a space between empty walls
and served spicy kung pao for the hungry.
But that's me, again, trying to name the chaos within or without
or anything around
with the purpose
of making someone
someday
the founder of something
worth to fill the space
between those big
and humble
and senseless
unexistent empty walls.