I consider poetry a way of building; building with words and sculpting in sound. It is the taste of words that I savour and the silence of the pauses in between; for poetry is a constant crossover between sound and silence. One reads the lines, the words between the lines and the invisible words too; the heard and the unheard, the said and the unsaid. In the poet’s magical mansions, chronicity is no longer the norm. Longitudes and latitudes merge and memory and oblivion dissolve into mirrors of legend for poetry reaches out beyond the corners of time and the limits of space.
