***And now after the gut-wrenching confession from my previous blog post comes the time to relieve the mind of any tension and just relish the beauty of this piece. (love) (love) (love)
Marvin Bell, 1937
You are not beautiful, exactly.
You are beautiful, inexactly.
You let a weed grow by the mulberry
and a mulberry grow by the house.
So close, in the personal quiet
of a windy night, it brushes the wall
and sweeps away the day till we sleep.
A child said it, and it seemed true:
“Things that are lost are all equal.”
But it isn’t true. If I lost you,
the air wouldn’t move, nor the tree grow.
Someone would pull the weed, my flower.
The quiet wouldn’t be yours. If I lost you,
I’d have to ask the grass to let me sleep.
It’s about to be Valentine’s Day soon with me spending it in a new country. My Valentine’s were generally uneventful as most of them are school days and I have to be in the daily grind. Anyways, just wanna share these painfully sweet lines in time of this Feb-ibig. Those who know this blog before, yes, I am reviving it. I recently stopped from an online gig and I miss news writing so so much. So I want to continue that here. I also want to rekindle my old love for poetry. Hope you enjoy my page.
By Ursula Krechel
So cold was the heart that it
was afraid for itself,
it drowned language, wanted to be
snuggled against tiles
lived like happy maggots
under baskets of sour cherries
gnawing selflessly into the strangeness,
head first, tired, so palpitating, the heart
was speechless. What also happened
very quietly the face fell into two pieces.
Language lost its thread
scraping into the ground, without purpose.