it has only been four months
but I am no longer afraid
I laugh
and that should be most frightening
and maybe it is
I dont know.
I have grown
and with growth comes knowledge
I know now
that there is very
very little
any of us know.
I know this:
there is god
who knows every thing  that some of us
most of
all of us
wouldn't fathom
and he has shuffles cosmos
and he has bursts plants through the coil
of stubborn soil
and he is kind
and he is mercy
when I am not blessed
with depression
and tragedy
and insanity
when I am not blessed
with tears
that have vanished for four months now
when lonesomely
I sit at the sight
of unwitnessed decay of dreams
that once use to live at the tips of my skin
there is god
who in my adversity
is softer
and stronger than all.
here are my words
that are only echos
of classics
and some few poetry volumes
that stand mocked
to tell you
I do not posses
the bless
of tragedy
so naturally
my poetry
is pallor
and bleak.
except for this
this which I laugh at now
instead of clutter,
on my streets
it is forbidden
to whisper:
"Ernest Hemingway".
on my streets
in my classrooms
these weeps sung into my ears
that make me sultry
and merry
and nothing but
 subtle
incoherent furry
are
disguising in their wrongness.
I laugh now
and I dont know why I laugh.
maybe because all of you
who think
you stomp upon me
give me tragedy
through which
I put forth
half decent
poetry.