‘I wonder what life would be like without poetry?’ Prue said with a challenging gaze. I looked at her with an amused frown of disbelief and, jumping up, I said enthusiastically, while trying hard to keep my voice down, ‘life without poetry? We would never have existed without poetry!’
‘All forms of art are poetry and genius is a form of art. Creativity and imagination breath new life into the essence of being, beyond the limitations of reason.
The moment you enter that world you feel like going back to the only place where you are not interrupted by the noise around you. You stand in the middle of the crowd and they don’t see you. Their words are finite, their presence is temporary – you are here and you are nowhere to be found.
You walk the streets looking for something that you’re painfully missing not knowing what it is and yet, when you find it, you can’t seem to get hold of it. There are no possessions in this world, only stories and how they make you feel. It’s all fleeting and the sensation never dies.
Poetry is resurrection. Poetry saves you from succumbing to your own feelings of defeat. You spend hours reading, trying to escape your days, hoping to find a world beyond a suffocating reality. And the more you read the more you realize that you are not alone. You feel the pain in someone else’s words and you step out of your own. You learn to look revolt in the face and embrace your fears. You see beauty in despair and you suffer while experiencing a sensation sweeter than pleasure (and you learn to love). Life is poetry; it is suffering, beauty, pain, ardor and contradiction.
A never-ending poem that takes you on journeys of love and hopeful promises and it crushes your soul with words of despair and melancholy. There is no beginning and there is no ending but the process of creation and anticipation. The brush touching the white canvas for the first time with a burning desire to start the next.’