there is no poverty in poetry: it is a rich world
of flowers
and magic, of images that imaginations create
a warm sun
the deep blue sea, some mysteries of words
that come
and seemingly carry with them a bountry of meanings
liberation, oblation, jubilation
expression
birds coming out from our mouths
butterflies from our
stomachs
fireworks from our minds
in multicolors
to the darkest skies
of this earth
where can poverty
be
in a world of freedom: to say what you want to say
to think what you want to think
to dream
to imagine
to find meanings where others think there are none?
the secret garden
a path
a gate
a hiding place for all of us who still believe
about life
and aftelife and life after life
temporary deaths
and temporary losses
a jump a leap to the world beyond us
to eternity
we are meant
this i think is poetry and surely
there can never be
poverty