my poetry is an element of my existence’s character,
a timeless experience reigning the mind/soul complex throne
condemned to be dethroned upon articulation.
Language exiles it to the labels of timeline and history.
Confined to the prison of runes, glyphs and symbols;
receded from ethereal music to limited auditory markers,
from endless primordial euphoria to structures of consistent imagery;
morphed from an eternal wanderer sage into a soldier of syntactic rules;
my poetry dies
my soul dies
26/03/2016 © Waseem Sherif