If someone asks me when do you think you will die?
I would answer:
“The day when I won’t be able to understand metaphors in poems.
The day when a poet will not be able to pour his ecstasy, loneliness, joy, his deepest feelings into me.
The day when I will not think about Bukowski’s poems for hours or any poem in general.
The day when rhymes won’t hypnotize me with the charm.
It will be the day when the rainbow of syllables will be just black words written on plain paper.
That will be the day I die.”
-Vedant Aware
