at night i listen to their phantoms
shouting in my ear
shaking me out of lethargy
issuing me commands
i think of their tattered lives
of their feverish hands
reaching out to seize ours.
it's not that they're begging
they're demanding
they've earned the right to order us
to break up our sleep
to come awake
to shake off once for for all
this lassitude.

claribel alegria, nocturnal visits


one can speak poetry just by arranging colours well
(van gogh)


 “I was learning the craft of poetry, which really was an intensive version of what my mother had taught me all those years ago—the craft of writing as the art of thinking. Poetry aims for an economy of truth—loose and useless words must be discarded, and I found that these loose and useless words were not separate from loose and useless thoughts.”
(Ta-Nehisi Coates, Between the World and Me)