“Poetry’s a rainbow bursting from our black and white world”
For as long as I can remember I’ve been in love with the written words. Writing diaries since the age of ten, with my head in the books, and not being able to listen to music without trying to catch the lyrics. In fact I’m having a hard time even listening to it if the lyrics sounds bad in my ears.
However. My diaries was not worth reading. In fact, in order to avoid indignity I found they made a nice and warm bonfire on a cold winter day. We do have a lot of those.
Time after time I’m thinking thoughts that I think will make sense on paper. Time after time I try to write them down. Only to realize that they never turn out the way they were supposed to. There is a huge gap between my head and my hand. Just accept it!
So, what does poetry mean to me? As being human I am not unfamiliar with the feeling of loneliness. Sometimes thinking I’m the only one with all these unplesent (AND plesent of course) things going on in my head and my mind. The feeling of being a stranger and a foreigner in this world. Without the right language to communicate and making my voice heard and understood. And even worse, sometimes not have a clue about what others are saying!
That’ s when the words of others comes to you,speaking directly to you. And you feel as if you could have, wished you had, written those words. You didn’t. But luckily for you somebody else wrote it.
And just then, for a short moment of time, you do realize that you are not alone. Someone else had those simular thoughts. Those simular feelings. And they managed to write them down so that you could find them, read them, maybe take comfort in them. In either way get some kind of pleasure from them.
You are never alone. You just have to allow yourself to find, and to enjoy moments of being in the right context, for you.
“Travelers, there is no path, paths are made by walking” -Antonio Machado