I was told by a friend to look for poetry in everyday things....like a pair of slippers, a kitchen, a desk, my grandmother's wheezing. I find it hard and think that poetry isn't for everybody. Sometimes, you want to be honest, but no-one wants to hear you. So you honey coat it, get abstract and protect your sanity...and also get labled as a pseudo-intellectual. But truth is truth. As long as they know it, other's needn't.
I find it very difficult to play it cool. It's inevitable that I learn through my mistakes. No amount of warning helps. Like the time I almost lost my passport or fell into a water-hyacinth pond despite grave warnings.
It's hard to make yourself heard in this world. Everyone is in love with their own voices, their own achievements. Then there's that complaint...you say too little...oh you're so quiet...why don't you say something? Or...will you shut up now...I think you've said enough....oh you were still saying?
I'm a rambler. I am, I know. And I do things purely by impulse. Like give away my favourite bracelet, to a friend, who would never know the significance of it. And would never do something like that for me. I do not have a heart of gold. I regret that act of sudden generosity. Terribly.

Anyway. Like I said, it's hard to get through people through simple talk. This has no gimmicks, or pictures or that weird Benglish language we have concocted over the years. It has no names of people, and no flattery or controversy. This post has grim chances of survival.