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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.