the poet steals from a conversation
his soul has with the world
stubbornly refusing to yield
pouring the same into another mould
to conceal carefully from
the world, the co-creator
of the conversation
naming and owning it as his poem
the poem is now a witness
to that chat in a sanctified
sacred and secret cave, poet’s heart
expressing a vital experience
for this a whirlwind is not necessary
a simple occurrence, a little storm
in the tea cup is capable
of vibrating a spirited song
henry victor
05.08.2002
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