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A Touch of Nature

After and after I keep coming back

To this place which holds nothing

And everything

This emptiness which seems to be full

The dazzling sun glittering on the waters

Blinding my eyes, opening my thoughts

This breeze, sometimes gentle sometimes not

But always washes away the worries

Like a mother’s presence

The sprinkle of water on skin

Like a blessing from nature

A token of gratitude, a letter of appreciation

Who has the time to come here

And admire the ecstasy

Of the kingdom of Poseidon

To stand and feel the winds

As they gently kiss the face

And thank Zeus for the miracle

To set foot in between

The threshold of nature and reality

Which are two very different things, but not

Different at all

But my heart sings a song

The symphony of nature in my mind’s ear

And drags me back to this exuberant

Part of the universe

And nature rejoices

The waves dance

The sun shines

The winds blow

And my soul finally matches

The rhythm of my heart

Creating the contentment that I had been

Searching for everywhere

Right inside me

 

(picture by @ri.yaa on instagram)

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Writing for the Calm

It seems like the correct time to share the poem that reconnected me with my passion. “Writing for the Calm” propelled me back into writing; it enabled me to own up to all that makes me, me. The energy I describe has the ability to cripple me, yes, but I have learned to embrace it, be proud of it, use it–the piece of me that I am finally comfortable with. Sometimes, I need a reminder that I am power if I just believe that I am. After all, I write to know I exist outside my own mind…

I’ve always had an unexplainable,
Unnamed mass of energy inside,
Much like a tightly drawn bow,
A jostled can of Coke,
Or an eerily tranquil evening,
When the air suggests that everything
And nothing exists at once.
This has led to my greatest victories,
And the most paralyzing defeats.
I couldn’t accomplish anything without it,
Yet it has coerced me into villainous situations:
The contradiction of my life.

Anything to curb the position of this anxiety.
I can even say it’s easy to gravitate
Towards beautiful destruction.
And so, I grip the pen and feel the paper.
Yes. I want others to admire my work.
Yes. I love manipulating language.
Yes. Our stories must be told–preserved–
So they survive the abstract notion of time.
Why I write though, is so I can take a true,
Satisfying, uninhibited breath.
In the aftermath of a group of pen strokes,
I free the air I wasn’t even aware I held inside.

I write for the calm.
I write to know I exist outside my own mind.

 

 

 

[Thanks to those who help me find my calm when it goes missing.]