Afortunar

This feels so silly yet I am conscious about it, I have develop feelings for someone, not anyone, someone who lives miles away, that I’ve only met once and probably never see again. Such a gentle soul, so at ease and wise, navigating life with such eloquence. It feels silly but it’s true.  It feels silly because I can feel the excitement travelling through my limbs I recognise this from previous times When emotions are running high While my head plays catch up I can’t help myself but be happy When she responds, When she writes back, When she offers to help. She doesn’t know these silly feelings of mine, And I wouldn’t dare to share it out of mind I suppose we could stay being distant friends I suppose I could make that work I can keep the longing in my head I can keep these emotions out of the way  And spend every week waiting to end A little wave in passing A polite smile in gather Taming the fire emotions wanting to lit not risking any bigger split  

Writing is such an intimate endeavour, for me, it reveals part of my being that is normally hidden. So when I write, it’s really hard for me to have people that know me read the words I write, simply because I write from my soul and if you don’t like my writing, I don’t want to know, don’t tell me you don’t like my soul, I like it just fine.   And so, when writers out there write and I recognise words they’ve written, I find myself in awe. In awe of seeing part of themselves that are otherwise hidden in the everyday life. Somehow truths are easier in writing, because perhaps we know the reader will be reading more intently.

Muchas veces, ando por lugares y veo cosas sin percatarme de la verdad que intentan revelar. A veces solo basta con pararme un segundo más para entender el significado de ello. Lo mismo me ha pasado con este poema llamado, Ode (o Oda en español), es especial este pasaje: We, in the ages lying,     In the buried past of the earth, Built Nineveh with our sighing,     And Babel itself in our mirth; And o'erthrew them with prophesying     To the old of the new world's worth; For each age is a dream that is dying,     Or one that is coming to birth. Mi interpretación sobre estos versos es el siguiente, el autor habla de Nosotros, nos acostamos en los años,     enterrados en el pasado de las tierra, Construimos Nineveh con nuestro suspiro,     y Babel con nuestra alegría, Y los derrumbamos con profetizar    a lo viejo del valor del nuevo mundo, Por cada era es un sueño que va muriendo,    o uno que empieza a...