My God has a name
My tongue can't spell,
A shape invisible to the eye;
A voice of love we cannot hear,
Tasteless, formless, free
From life & death & causalities,
A touch we cannot feel
In the signs we hear & see
In this myopic, blindfolded time;
The proof that he exists is me
If I am, then therefore, must he/she/it/they.
There is nothing truer about me than my poetry. Wherever I see loneliness, I spin some words and watch them as they dance in solitude; and sometimes, I dance with them too; and sometimes, I listen to myself n say, "WTF is he saying?!?!"
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Tuesday, November 28, 2017
My God
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