I lay there watching the moon sink upwards into the clouds and that very much sums up my thought process on bleak days.
The beauty that resided before the rinderpest has now been taken over by merely explicit thoughts.
I do not know how to deal with those, so all I do is jot each and every word that comes to my mind, rearrange those and get the answer as to what is happening in my mind.
And that’s why poetry is beautiful.
When no one knows what a silent mind fosters, it’s the poetry which brings out the prudence and iffy in me.