My Work

In his seminal reflections within The Endless Wars, David Lubari Biar Lominyo recounts a childhood defined by a profound sense of wonder toward the architects of language. To the young Lubari, poets were a celestial “special bunch,” possessing a divine geometry to knit words into their rightful places with precision, proportion, and color. He was captivated by the transparency of their diction, words that acted not as barriers, but as windows through which the reader might glimpse hidden truths. Using language as a graphite pencil to sketch the soul’s geography, these poets occupied a world that seemed light-years beyond his own. Yet, even then, a quiet ache resided in his heart, a dream to bridge that distance and tap into the ancient reverence society bestows upon those who find the rhythm in the chaos of existence.

Lubari’s philosophy posits that the “Land of Poetry” is an inclusive domain, not a fortress reserved for the academic elite. He contends that a poet’s most vital tools are not found in the exhaustive study of others, but are carried in the “backpack” of the spirit: a keen eye for the interrelationships of the natural world, a heart greased by lived experience, and an unyielding determination. By drawing from the well of inborn talent, one ensures a purity of voice, a poetic “originality” unpolluted by the unintentional sifting of others’ ideas. He advocates for an organic dialogue between the observer and the observed.

As a self-described hunter on these new, colorful, and occasionally treacherous grounds, Lubari meticulously logs his footsteps. He understands that every hunter must forge a unique trail, lest the “animals”—the elusive truths of the human condition—become startled and flee. Through his writing, he shares the locations of his “herds” and “creeks,” offering his discoveries not as a map to be mimicked, but as a shelter for those who might stray along similar paths. Ultimately, his work serves as an invitation: a reminder that every individual carries a silent symphony within, waiting only to be “downloaded” from the heart and etched onto the page.