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Showing posts from August, 2017

Flavours of peach

My mother bought peaches today. Soft, plushy, pink orange, colours of my grandmother's garden in full bloom. The mellow smell of peaches opens me up inside and fills me with nostalgia for summertime in Albania.
Memories of messy bites and juice running down sticky, tiny hands. A sweet and prickly taste fills my mouth with images of open spaces and hot, dry courtyards, sounds of grandmother washing carpets and children playing on the streets and dust wearing only shorts and cotton vests...
Peaches, remind me of the smell and the tickling touch of my mother's hair on my face as she put me to bed late during hot starry southern nights. And hugs. And love. And rosy soap on my face before bedtime...
It's amazing, how many different flavours you can taste on a single peach.

But so does life...

No, I'm not upset my loves. I'm looking for a poem, a line, or word. One that's not been said before.  I'm looking in the water for lost sounds to describe the colour: dark blue-green, sunshine-drizzled waves, playing with the wind. I am quite happy laying in this place of light and calm, looking at the light grey clouds, waiting for a drop of rain to come. Waiting for a drop of rain to fall on my lips and quench my thirst for inspiration.  I think, I imagine, I daydream, of poems and lines, and words I would never dare to speak or write. Harsh stanzas that only rhyme with the broken rhythm of life. Fast poems that my tongue will slam in secret around my mouth until the overflow pours out. I think bills and forms and things I don't want to think about. I look at you and think again about the good things in life, my lovers, my loved ones. Your eyes, I daydream of them looking deep into mine and then snap. Snap out of it.  I am the harsh, the broken, the unrhymed. Th…