Poetry

 
being lost in childhood
is nothing
but meditation
often in serene atmosphere
i tune my nostrils
to absorb
the lost fragrance of
childhood
and the ears
to hear
the lost voices of childhood
and memories...
where i lived with nameless
grass
nameless plants...
and their nameless
Flowers...
nameless colours...
i played with ants
and nameless insects...
nameless butterflies...
i lived in shrubs
as if in a wild forest
without name
without words
a child speaks...