What is Dada?
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Dada is the forgotten newspaper from yesterday left at the benchDada is the mysteryDada is the thought that never came upIt is the beat lost its rhythmDada is the sunlightIt is the love impossibleDada is the dog howling for no apparent reasonIt is the chance not takenDada is the smoke of the pipe not yet lit
Dada is the child dancing on the beachNot knowing yetDada is not a toy horse, no way!Dada is neither creation nor destructionSo it is not Shiva then?Dada is embracing anything that is made readyAll of itDada is the crab walking in the wet sandDada doesn’t care about hi or lo
Dada is like the dervish dancing in the streetThe butterfly flickering its wings, beautifullyDada is the happiness and lightness without any reason what.so.everLicking its woundsDada is vicious opennessStaring Death in the faceDada is riding the wooden horseTalking back in a broken accentDada is just wondrous
That it is!