What poetry means to me and its meaning in my life....
The poem is always incomplete, the butterflies make it whole ~Mahmoud Darwish
It was the season of storms. It was the time when the winds of Jerusalem arrived at my door with a gift. It was my moment of reckoning- that moment when I realized that I moved only in two directions: away from you and towards you. My heart synchronized with your sighs and I dreamed of the rustle of my verses against your skin or the steely touch of your rings on my lips and I believed we both lived in these moments at the same time. If only I had Delilah’s scissors, I would have snipped all eclipsed memories away, memories that were yours and mine, memories that were trapped in the throes of unforgiving time. I would have taken your hand, my Poetry, my David, my Neshama, my light and I would have changed the course of all the lines on your palm. Every time I look at you, words appear on empty pages and mark their passage on my heart. Every time I look at you, I know that your name will always be written with mine on a slab of Aramaic clay. This is perhaps my dust speaking to you. This is perhaps a poem dipped in my blood speaking to you. This is perhaps Love that has traveled through centuries until it found you and me- Poetry.
Oh! The apocalypse of my unwritten poems burning your searing skin.
Oh! The catastrophe of my winter-kissed mouth against your blazing chin.
© Jaspreet Mann. All Rights Reserved.