The Day the Artifacts Talked

Ambiguity is the key to poetry. It does not need to appeal right away. Most of the times, it needs to be unlocked.

It took a decade before these thoughts shared by our former professor made sense. Back then, I have always questioned the essence of writing something and not allowing other people to understand it. Why write (and publish) when you don’t want it to be read? But there are things that seemed impossible to understand on a certain age. The lack of maturity. The lack of experience. The lack of understanding. As I said, it took a decade – at the most unexpected time, at the most unexpected place. At the museum. There I found myself creating pieces by just blankly staring at those pieces of art left misunderstood, unappreciated by many. Such expressions were too vast to comprehend; hence, the ambiguity of messages. Hence, the debate of many.

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Maybe this is why they talk in strange tongues. Maybe this is why they don’t want to be understood. Because for art to exist, you must be willing to deny everything that you know, everything that you thought you knew. You just stand there as bare witness of the hidden messages of the world to those who are willing to listen and feel.

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unwanted
a spell was casted –
an angel was put to sleep
thanks, abortionist.
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behind the limelight
oh, lovely! lovely!
hands roared in appreciation:
I wish they’re for me
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quit
I have lived enough
son, it’s useless to worry
on what could kill me
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