I write poetry because I have nothing profound to say, my prose, if I ever write it, is a dull tasteless monologue, more like the incessant drone of flies over heaps of dung. Poetry is convenient, you don’t have to think so much, you can write such glorious nonsense and sell it, banking on the gullibility of the poor reader. A poem can be short, no one objects to that, they all thank you for it, long poems are boring if you have nothing original to say and so much bad poetry has been written that long poems have become a thing to avoid. I have been trying to understand the muteness that confronts me when I want to write a few sentences, why I feel nonplussed when I want to write an essay. It is like watching a sunset and trying hard not to return unimpressed and bored. Over the years I have had to deal with so many silences that poets have deemed beautiful, inspiring and amorous and have failed over and over again to feel how they felt. But things don’t look so bad these days, I am beginning to feel that one needs to re-invent these silences correctly, that is when they strike a chord, and when you feel how so many others have felt. Writing is another question however, to me, writing about things I see has become a crime. I manage to murder everything that I write about. The act hiding my experience seems righteous, I want to digest all my silences and translate them into the language that my existence speaks, this is how I wish to tell the world how I felt.