I had recalled some lines


I write poetry

because I breathe



to be exact


and do not know why –


a number that

had waved at me

from the ribs of a passing truck

earlier that day


lime green –






it sang,

loping by the café –


but why,

I asked, had these



All that is visible

All that is visible clings to the invisible,
the audible to the inaudible,
the tangible to the intangible,
Perhaps the thinkable to the unthinkable.

Lama Anagarika Govinda

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