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Saturday, September 24, 2005 - ore 01:34
(categoria: " Poesia ")
And then, all of a sudden, the flow started. I could hear all those words, mighty words of magnificence, and poor words of subtle wisdom, all together in my head forming an unknown mist out of nowhere. I didn't
want to write, instead I
felt compelled to write down some of these words by some unbelievable mightness, the will of which was no matter of discussion. And so it flew, it simply flew through me. I was neither a creator, nor a tool. I was just a mean of propagation, like an underlayed pipe to bring water in the civilized world. I could feel the water flowing through me, fresh, nourishing, full of ancient wisdom, and yet untouchable, unknown, like some kind of distant dream you wouldn't want to ever wake up from. And still, it was unbearable, like an ancestral bane, and I bore the marks of suffering and pain just underneath my very skin.
It was too fast, I'm sure I've already said it, all of a sudden. But that moment enbraced the very soul of the planet, of entire humanity, of the history that contributed to shape our world as we can see it now, while we stand amazingly breathless staring at the everlasting poetry of a sunset, or the full moon on a clean, soundless night. At first I thougth I could catch the breeze, and trap it forever in my soul as a colourful snapshot of life. But, as I started to realize that the emotion which that miracle portrayed, and, of this I'm sure, that forever shook the foundation of my very life, couldn't be memorized for the future, because it was too pure, too flawless, too blinding and flashing a light with a period of divinity in itself...
I simply gave up. That's why now, all you can have of it is this untruthful, necessarily lacking description. Nonetheless, take heed and bear witness to my modest, yet true words, about the wonderful, delightful, and incredible experience of the
feelings that once experimented the soul of a
poet.
Yes, it's all about poetry, isn't it?
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