i do not just write from a scratch of an idea from anywhere
like i get a pen and a piece of yellow paper, a blank sheet of
bondpaper, unperfumed like the love letter sent to sensuality,
it is not a matter of switching on the light of the lampshade
early dawn, rub my eyes, tap my middle finger on the table,
and breathe deeply and say,
i will write this
emptiness, with no one inside this circle of emptiness,
like an empty set,
zero, nothing inside some domains,
no,
writing starts with someone in mind
not really something lovely that excites my hormones
my lust and desire for another sexual fantasies
it woudl be too selfish
and ignoble,
writing starts with you
the concrete you, the once crying inside the room
on a wintry night, the one who needs the comfort of my
thoughts, the warmth of my concern
though distant
like the sun to another sun to another star to another star
of this galaxy to another galaxy,
i think about your worries
i reflect upon your quest to be alive again
i ponder upon your thirst
for love
something specific
something i can touch with the fingers of my mind
something that i can bite and check if this something is still
tasting the salty taste of the blood of life,
as i grow somehow
i shall think about the great spaces and places of the other worlds
beyond you and me
beyond us,
my mind gaping like an open mouth of a baby
opening to the freshness of this world
i will start with you
your sad eyes, it will start with the question
how can i ever wipe your tears
how can i ever make you smile again
and then the sadness of the world
its miseries
how can we ever heal it,
how can we ever make it green and alive again
from the very beginning
RIC S. BASTASA
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-write-to-think-to-imagine-to-love/
