In a thought of a time when I was thinking
I was then thinking of writing but then I let the thought subside
I have meek priorities because the tea in my cup is more than in hers
and I must level the quantity cause it weights on me
like the sight of my beard which makes me look ugly
and mother said it’s for cleanliness that we must look good
but why doesn’t that make sense to me when it’s something natural it shouldn’t be dirtying anyone’s view
but now it does mine and I can’t think any other way so I go sit in the balcony, made into a symbol of tragedy by years of writing
oh! but I know only one example and I’ll quote it forever because for me to believe I need to impose it on other,
oh wait! that’s not me that’s someone else I was projecting right now
it’s difficult to draw lines but the balcony is an inch lower than the the rest of the house,
by lines of some measure totalling an inch I am lower
but inside the house I am so much more lower, I am smallest in the house
because I never grew I am the same as was born and that makes me a non-living
that’s why my mother feels ashamed of me but these days she pretends not to feel so, maybe she has googled some answers to have a “normal child”
I drink the tea in one go,
I like when the tea is cold it makes me hesitate less for once
I see people on the road and I see a civilisation I see technology and a dog
they are all so good at being what they are at being civilised, at being technological and at being a dog
and now I know how this will go
they’ll rise from the ground and float above balcony
– they have the right to exist ’cause they’re good at what they do,
they fulfill this empty life of theirs with the motive of being right there on the road in front of me which is now at my eyes’ level,
they are rightful of their existence, of being in the adjective of the noun that they were created for the very first time,
they don’t want to be anything else and that is how they’re the purest form of beings,
the road with these “nouns” has risen above my head and now this balcony I must leave and shave my beard,
discover other nouns some on the ground still others floating already on words and air because no one would come to me and try to level the quantity of tea in this wretched cup, the fragility of which makes me want to throw it on the floor, it doesn’t matter whether I have less or more
but this fever of not having written my sick thoughts of that one time when I was thinking of writing is now a little less and now i am obliged to laugh


  1. I wish I had a balcony to read this over and over again and again. Maybe I can imagine just like how I imagine how much more digestion would be needed over and over again. I’ve heard that rest is good for fevers 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  2. These thoughts seem to have gone through your head on my birthday. Wait, no. You’ve written this on my birthday. Wait, no. You’ve PUBLISHED this on my birthday. I, as I’m sure many others, are waiting to feast (for lack of a better word, perhaps something which doesn’t imply that poetry is a luxury) on more of your artistic zephyrs of words. Although, your poetry can often be a hurricane. Let’s continue our adumbration, or rather cowardice. Rich life is rich poetry so let’s be brave in the world out there and be cowards when we clutch to our pen and paper.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Belated Happy Birthday! I hope it was a good day for you.
      These thoughts came to me on your birthday it seems…the more unorganised mess my poetry looks like the larger the possibility of it being written on the same day as being published is. It is like a process of purging my mind which quite unsurprisingly doesn’t quite work like so.
      I have gathered the cowardice to write again. Thank you for your kind and inspiring words. I am quite eager to visit your site and read some jewels.


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