A Moving Estimate

Historical Tours of Cambridge for the Discerning

Poetry in Motion

Poetry in Motion

A text… Some words connected (collected, disconnected, shattered!) …

An image, an expression, or, may be, just a fleeting thought…

A thing to share, to remember, to preserve…

To cherish, to incite and to inspire…

To forge ahead, or, may be, to retire

In quiet contemplation by yourself

With a few words, or, may be, not so few,

Into your world, where only you can dvelve,

A text, a string of words, or sounds — clock strikes twelve —

Who shall show up, a raven, or yourself,

Still staring at the mirrow, burned out fire,

A text is all that’s left of the desire…

That is how it goes with me, I try to conceptualise what poetry is, and then, the words flow into my mind, and on the screen, and all the concepts are left behind, and I just keep on mumbling, or Muse!, or what’s the use!