My affair with Poetry

poetry-image

I love Poetry; everything about the written word formulated in such a way that it creates feelings and even wound up emotions. Just words and you can tell an entire story about songs of the heart, the callings of the soul and the yearnings of the mind, all fulfilled by the tales of the body sounding off into the distant a language that at most times only the heart gets its magnetising effect.

I love reading poetry and writing it. I think if they told me that I could not write anymore, I would say they substitute it with my sight or hearing. Not writing for me would be torture. I can’t stress how much I enjoy and relish in writing even the most silly or crazy stuff. I think I was among the few if not the only person who enjoyed and still enjoy writing notes in class during lessons. I still find myself scribbling stuff even in text books because my hand just itches to write something, anything!

My head is always full of things to write sometimes they don’t make sense but once I put each one on a piece of paper and arrange the thoughts they become something beautiful that I can be proud of. I have more than a few times that I have woken up in the night to write an idea or poem that kept nagging and begging me to put it on paper. Try as much I will to ignore it I won’t be able to get back to sleep unless I transfer it from my brain. Anything goes as long as it can hold my ideas. I even write thoughts in my phone then in the end I write it down and it becomes a poem of some sort.

All kinds of things give me inspiration when I am composing a poem. I have written about everything from the weather, seasons, trees, stones, kinds of music, food, water…the list is endless and each poem ends up always having its own theme and message. What would I do without my writing? Writing especially poems gives me pleasure and I wish people would go back to the days when letter writing was the only way of communicating with people who were far away. The anticipation was crazy, having to wait for three or four days before that other person replies to your mail. Holding the envelope and moving it to your nostrils to smell the perfume that the person had sprayed on it…cheap perfume but it did not matter, the scent made you feel closer to the sender of that envelope. The best part of it all was when you wrote back. Each stroke carefully laid out on the paper, some form of calligraphy just to give it that special touch and unique feel. Now texting has completely destroyed the pleasure of putting pen to paper. Now we use corrupted English shortened versions of the words sometimes words that are not easily understood. How I miss letter writting! But the guy I end up dating, we’ll have to revive that old dying beautiful tradition, nothing can ever replace the simple letter…nothing.

Sometime I get so lost in writing that I am completely absorbed into my own world, I think if I could I would just write until the end of time. I remember when I was young in class seven I started writing a series of novels. They were about high school kids going about their lives, friendships, falling in and out of love, betrayals you know the normal things that teenagers go through in life. My first series was called Jackie and Bedford; I think I wrote more than ten series or so. Once I got into my writing zone, it was hard to get me to do anything else. They would even have to drag me to go and eat or bathe. I just enjoyed bringing the characters to life in those exercise books. It was exhilarating and quite an adventure that I did not want to stop. It got to a point that my mum had to threaten to throw the books away or burn them if my grades did not improve.

Apparently I was failing in class so I had to concentrate on my school work or off with my writing. I still sneaked in some writing when I was in class ending up writing in my class exercise book. Like they say you can take away the tools of trade of someone but you can never take away what is in the brain…I think I just made that out but I promise there is a saying about something like that. Anyhow you get what I am driving at. I don’t really have all my novel series because back then I would write and give my friends to read but we all know the story of how your property ends up being in a chain and eventually ends up getting lost. It’s always I gave Sally, you go to her, she gave it to Susan, she gave Tom he gave John he gave Whitney…the chain goes on until you loose track like playing broken telephone.

I continued writing in high school then started poetry but along the way I lost it. Suddenly I couldn’t write anymore because I had no inspiration. So the novels and poetry was tucked away gathering dust and cobwebs which wasn’t really good. The words were there but somehow I felt like I was just exhausted to even write anymore. It was as if it had become a chore so I just stared at my books and eventually stopped even wondering what happened to my itching to write fingers.

Sooner rather than later I snapped out of it and began writing again but mostly poetry. It was as if I had never stopped writing for close to a year. Everything just flowed and the proficiency was back. My melody was back. My grief helped me write because my emotions were raw and thus it was like eyes that flowed with sad tears. I even ended up having a collection of over 300 poems all speaking about different things and having different meanings.

Writing is my life and if there was anything like a writer-holic I think I would have gone into rehab millions of times. Like taking a first step on a black and white chequered floor board of a new house that you have been waiting for its completion, I feel like that every time I write I would rather sit at home on a rainy wet day writing about how the rain drops softly hit my roof and slide slowly onto the terraces before reaching my window sill and breaking into a million rivers of patterned drops. I have learnt to fly into the unknown when I write because that is where words that are random are created, simmered, left to brew into an appetizing nouvelle cuisine which in French is a modern style of cooking that avoids heavy foods and emphasises the way dishes are presented.

I think I can call myself an artist of some sort I’m no expert, I just love fashion, drawing, I love art, so abstract, structural and natural things fascinate me, the world is 3 dimensional in my mind every little detail weaves itself around an object to create the most insane elements. For me art is life, fashion is the thread that intertwines fabrics of moments and memories that are imprinted in our brains to last a lifetime. Food which I love is also art: ingredients combined, tossed, stirred, fried, mixed or blended to create a piece of edible architecture is just magnificent, I love the way it all comes together with sweet delicate scents.

 

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