Your Love Is Poetry (postcard no.1)

http://www.kuruza.com/ss-postcards-project/ 

Love is divine feeling and belongs to Beloved One, Whom plant the hidden seed within humans hearts. It has a great opportunity to grow, if we water it regularly and if we expose it to Light. Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote:

“No man can be called friendless who has God and the companionship of good books.” 

Regardless aforementioned, people are seeking for other people's love and affection. Each of us needs an ally on our path. We need someone to hold our hand and to whip off our fear of death, fear of pain and nevertheless, our fear of transience. 

So we love; we love individuals whom inspires us to be better person, those ones whom trust in us, the ones whom admires us and perhaps, they love us too.

The purest love shall be unconditional love, but I am doubting human's capability to maintain a course of cherishing such a profound emotion. Unfortunately, above everything else, we are simply humans, therefore, we hold an expectations and arrogance, not understanding clearly against whom; against other person or against ourselves.  

More poetry is needed indeed. But, we need to read it from another angle. We need to gravitate towards the idea of being the author, rather than the muse. Being the one whom is inspired with eternity, with unconditional love, with God, with pureness, with simplicity of someone's daily habit, with someone's appearance or someone's inner vulnerability.   

In order to feel love, at least the part of complexity that love contains, we need to expose ourselves, we need to reveal ourselves, we need to allow for our hearts to be touched and fractured into the smallest peaces by others.  

Because you cannot learn how to feel, neither how not to feel. 

Therefore, you cannot choose whom to love; you can only dive into love or ignore it once when you become aware of your emotions. 

You can read the poetry, relate to it and analyse it, but once when you start to wish you wrote it instead of wishing that it was written for you, you will be capable to contribute towards unconditional love. 

I trust humans are believers, I trust humans are tender lovers, but I am witnessing the lack of honesty, the lack of braveness, the lack of understanding, the ignorance and arrogance. Unfortunately, love does not live in those hearts, neither the empathy. Some people are building empire of emptiness in their hearts. They are delusional while thinking that that is a shield which will protect them from harm. 

To be touched by love, the one needs to experience the tears of sorrow as well as tears of joy.  Let us be moved by divine force; moved forward to understanding of existence, of beauty, of present moment and

death. 

Love is poetry and shall make you cry. 

"What shall I bestow upon you when I do not own anything but my words?"

Today I spent all afternoon with my parents, my sister and her daughters. Yes, I am very attached to my family and I cherish close relations with them. We share our time, our good and bad moments, our actuality and our past  But, today a strange moment happen and I was not prepared for it. A moment of travelling through the time; going a decade in reverse. My mom brought out a sheet of paper after the lunch. It was a song I wrote to her 10 years ago for her birthday and she wanted to share it with my 10 years old niece. 

The song was written by hand on a blank sheet of paper from notebook. 

I do not remember writing  process, neither poem's existence. I do not remember my mother reaction when I gave her a peace of my soul written down with my left handed, difficult for reading writing style. I do not recall particularly that birthday of hers, except the fact that it was November 18th, 2005. I was in a high school back then. As any teenager, I was more focused on my inner world rather then on my reality. To be honest, in that time, books were my reality; most likely depression as well, even though I never saw it to be an issue when I was living my episodes or periods. 

She asked me to read it to my niece, because no one can read my handwriting; I always wrote exclusively for myself and I never made a copies of my work. I remember the moment when 4 professors tried to read my final essay at the high school, because they founded my handwriting to be very complex. Eventually, they understood that  the context I wrote was better then expected, so I was awarded with the higher recognition - to be naturally gifted future writer. The same belief followed me through the collage, but my highly developed self-criticism put a shadow on my possibly bright future of becoming a writer; I would call it a curse rather than a natural gift, but regardless how is marked, living with it and despite it is the only way which remains. 

But when I took this sheet of paper, when I saw my handwriting, when I looked at personal note addressed to my mother, I simply started to cry without any control. I read it for myself, choking in my spontaneous tears, trying to read it fast, so I can take some air; trying to get down from the roller-coaster of my constantly present melancholy, with the same intensity even after a decade, trying to tame this overwhelming sorrow within me. 

So, I found some strength left to read it out loud to my niece, whom hugged me when she spot the tears in my eyes. So, I am reading and my hands are shaking, my soul is breaking and my heart is growing in the same moment. It is ode to my mother and I do not want to sound pretentious, but with the decade of distance, I can say it is well written; deeply melancholic and honest poem. 

And I am reading it so everyone can hear me. My mother cries too. Why do you think I end up to be so emotional? It is a personal heritage from her and my full of love childhood. 

The one verse is repeating in a good manner and it sounds something like "What shall I bestow upon you when I do not own anything but my words?"

While reading it, I start to understand that a lot of things happen within 10 years, but nothing what matters has ever changed.