My writing consistency is quite exceptional, having in mind that it usually takes me at least a month till I post something new, but who am I to stop the urge when it’s there? However, this one would be short. It’s just that I woke up with Maya Angelou’s poetry at the back of mind and thus, decided to drink my coffee while reading more of her works, and then more of other poets’ works. I swear, I can stay in  for hours during the weekend (I try to cut away from it at week days) and only the need to pee could distract me.Anyway, so in the middle of the process I felt them – the verses forming…

My mum has once told me “Poetry is contageous, my dear, once you’ve encountered, once you’ve felt it, you can’t escape its embrace“. She was right. Or at least in my case. The more I read it, the more inspiration I have to write it. It’s like the whole piece is just born in a second, you don’t think it, you are just it. I feel almost like a wire through which  both my conscious and subconscious desires pass and uncover themselves on the paper  (or on the blank word document). Don’t get me wrong here, I hardly consider myself a poet and I don’t claim my creations to be even nearly as fascinating as Maya Angelou’s, Pablo Neruda’s or Michael Foudet’s (my favourites). Nevertheless, I’m still content of what comes out of my writing endeavours, so I would like to share the one from this morning and I hope you enjoy it. Here you go…


[by the way, I like saving my literary deeds in such a format as if I had written them on an old paper]

My mum also said that poetry is dilusional as it promises something that could never be reached. But I wanna ask her…if such feelings and passions are living in our minds then aren’t they already real  and just waiting for us to call them out?


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