When I was a schoolboy and was given my own room, I established the Republic of Rumia with myself as sole inhabitant and Supreme Dictator General For Life. Rumia was where my imagination was fertilised, where my toy animals became a reserve forest, where my cars had a highway built for them, and where I was king, rebel, police, pirate...anything I wanted to be. Rumia disappeared when we moved away to a smaller house. It is for me the natural name for my blog.
Ink: an exchange
A few black lines on paper and behold, a life in action.
Poets energise life, not comprehending the dreaded writer's block.
Ink is DNA, writing the poem anew for every reader.
I wrote on paper ages ago, my signature has atrophied.