Sunday, December 11, 2011

Writing poetry is, for me, as essential as drinking a glass of water. Water, mind you - not whisky, nor wine or beer. Why? Because, precisely, it is essential, sometimes tasteless, sometimes somewhat metallic tasting, sometimes wonderfully refreshing. And, just like a glass of water, it is also nothing special - unless it is a scorching summer day and I am dying of thirst.
I can see some eyebrows rising: "What? Nothing special?" No, nothing special - like life, love and hate. It is simply an element that helps us prove our existence, through beauty - whatever that means. Because, poetry, like beauty, is also relative. It is the Quantum Mechanics of the soul. 
Slower than the speed of light, though. 
Much, much slower.
But just as blinding. 

(Have you ever seen the sun reflected in a glass of water? Yes, precisely.)