In 2008, I watched my
pen dribble on a page, leaving behind ink trails that filled the entire white
space. What came out was a poem. I titled it ‘The First Time I Saw You, Was the
Last Time I Saw You.’ The title was such
a blatant truth, clean as a whistle. This
poem was written with deep emotions of a man whose day had suddenly become
night and dawn refused to creep up. Hope and hopelessness were crashed into one
pot and stirred into a murky blend – the kind of juice that was too hard to
swallow, yet not that bitter. But in this man’s heart, he knew that this poem would rise up
his sun again. But since time waits for no man, years came and passed by. Now
it’s the end of 2012, and that truth is still the truth. Ruthless truth.
In My Room/Office/Studio
"A writer and nothing else: a man alone in a room with the English language, trying to get human feelings right." - John K. Hutchen.
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