Schrödinger wave equation of cancers and miracles
i thought i never wrote love poems,
or poems on wars, or
poems on how the few people
have destroyed the planet, while i see
the limited enlightened ones
posting memes on internet
about how things used to be, and
how things should have been. because
bukowski. because plath. because rumi.
i thought i wrote about my dreams
of slashed out wounds, spurting blood
in tandem with technolicious beats
of my never-present hyper-reality,
or about the sewers, undergrounds,
and the occult mandalas, by the side
of a river, larger than the walls of our
self-created penitentiaries.
and then i realized, just like this one
every poem written so far
is always a love poem, a war poem
and a political poem at the same time;
and we all are in this together,
like a schrödinger wave equation; with the
coupled quantum state of cancers,
and occasional bleeps of unexplained miracles.