Have I lived
Have I learned, have I loved, do I matter,
Does it matter, what I say or what is in my heart today?
With the earth begging for mercy, under the demand and weight of many trodding feet, and above my head, the hanging ceiling of the expansive sky, I hold the world in my hands and inscribe on high.
I write in my insignificant scribbles, but I write them bold. Yet for just those every moments it feels like I'm in total control. It brings out what is hidden and embedded within my soul.
I love the thoughts I can scribble inside my mind in the dark or daylight, I love it cause it's my write.
The fresh fragrance it leaves lingers like the pleasant smell of a flower garden or the sounds of the whistling of birds which are so crisp and crystal clear in the fresh morning air.
And when I meditate
I'm always anxious, I can't wait. It's my poetry and it means so much to me. I love how it is expressed like squeezed fresh juice from out of some juicy tropical fruits, which is secreted because of all the beauty I see, and through all the people who surround me, and because I love living and just love life.
This life is poetry and poetry is life. It relieves, no! it recuperates this restless soul of mine from the many gnawing recurring stress and strife of this momentous journey, we call life.
For World Poetry Day (March 21, 2018), we asked members of the Circle of Poets to tell us what poetry means to them. We’ll be sharing their entries here with you over the coming days.