WRITES ITSELF

I don't sit down to write,

it sits down itself, 

wherever I am, in the bus, in a tram, on the loo,

my pen is busy,

my mind flows with thoughts,

immediate or seen in a flash, 

sparked by other thoughts,

or seeing a person, a thing,

That is interesting to me,

possibly not in the least bit interesting to anybody else.

Unless perhaps I clothe it in a new dress

and in doing so awaken thoughts

around something from a different view,

renew the observational powers

of you, and help you too to create your own little exhibition

of the art of thought; 

which, we must admit is creative, inspirational,

and keeps us going in the otherwise all too often, 

mundane drudge of the treadmill of life,

earning money, satisfying others, meeting deadlines, busy.

Just hop sideways,

to reinvent our own existence,

again and again, 

giving it the perception of its whole, 

its meaning and the feeling of being alive, 

and taking part in the mechanisms of human life

on earth.