At some point
I stopped reading.
Not entirely.
But almost.
When I enter the old bookstore,
I am gravitate towards the poetry.
Before, I would head towards
the Philosophy section,
the History section,
the Science section.
(Yes, there is poetry in science too.
Also beauty,
also awe and wonderment.
Don’t you read Quantum Mechanics?)
Today, I no longer read with my head.
Just want to feel with my heart.
Poetry soothes my soul.
It makes a great companion.
I am not after elegant words,
or profound meaning.
Not really interested in the poet’s fame.
I just want to taste and cherish,
the Silence,
so lovingly painted by my poet friends.
I want to read each poem slowly.
Meditate on it.
Savor every line.
I want to stare at the blank space
surrounding the words.
And feel the harmony
between emptiness and form.
I am addicted
even to the illustrations;
they are poetry in themselves.
I want to imbibe the atmosphere,
the emotions, and the meaning of it all.
Until I am drunk.
Until I become poetry.