They often ask me (By the way
Who are mysterious ‘they’):
The poetry is useless shit,
So what for are you doing it?
What do you want to tell us, bro,
Just take this cardboard bio straw,
Drink what you ordered, take a seat
(Why are you also drinking it?).
I’m being asked along my way,
How do you live your normal day,
How do you sleep, my friend, at night;
Are you above this all alright?
Okay, first yes. But no. But yes.
It’s hard to comprehend I guess.
I write a poem, it’s a game,
Like Britney. Oops, did it again.
And, day by day I try my best
To spoil with all this stuff my rest.
It’s kind of fun I should admit
(Or why I’m still like doing it?).
I take a word, another one,
I feel the rhythm, like beating drum,
Continuing, I cannot quit.
That’s answer why I’m doing it.
Why poetry
© Copyright: Лёшико Имедашвили, 2023
Свидетельство о публикации №123082407219
Свидетельство о публикации №123082407219
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