I got up at 1AM, turned to my right,caught birds. Birds are slow on wing. Then I turned to the left, away from birds. Till 1.30 when I took phone to write a poem.
Wrote a poem .Sorry. Before that I had read Palabre. Palabre supplied Small Things that somehow would become poem. Then I wrote a small things poem. Then I came away to the computer to write subsidiary poems. Subsidiary poems spoke about small and big .
I would go into the balcony and decide to keep the light on so I can pee more often.
I promised small and big. Now here I am, writing small. There is no big here . The old politician who has been admitted to hospital. Will he kick the bucket? Would he join everyone’s mother up there, whose watch is ticking in the earth below?