The Importance of Poetry

Today I'm going to write about another thing that really passionate me about, that thing is poetry.

Although I don't know much about poetry, specially in english, I like to read it and I think about it as a way to get into you as a retrospection.
As a Dyslexic sometimes is difficult for me to read (not impossible) that's way I enjoy deep and short forms of writing. I found poetry as a scape from big text or a more accurate arrow to your soul. 
And like any art form, in my opinion is GREAT MEDICINE.

Nest I'm going to show you some of my favorite poets and poems. 

One of the poets with whom I had contact first was:

 

Mario Benedetti a Uruguayan journalist that knew how to contact with all the people from all the different spheres of society. A mirror of his time.

Here a example from him:

Tactic and Strategy

My tactic is to look at you

To learn how you are

Love you as you are

My tactic is to talk to you

And listen to you

And construct with words

An indestructible bridge

My tactic is to stay in your memory,

I don't know how

Nor with what pretext

But stay within you

My tactic is to be honest

And know you are too

And that we don't sell each other illusions

So that between us there is no curtain or abyss

My strategy instead is

Deeper and simpler.

My strategy is that some day

I don't know how, nor with what pretext

That finally you need me.

-- Mario Benedetti (translated by Chris Kraul)

 Another great poet that i find incredible and not just because is Mexican is Jaime Sabines  i found is writing incredibly accurate to produce emotions.

Here an example from him:

THE LOVERS

The lovers fall silent.

Love is the finest, the most shuddering,

the most unendurable, silence.

The lovers seek,

they are the ones who relinquish,

those who change, who forget.

Their hearts tell them that what they look for,

what they seek, they will not find.

The lovers go around like lunatics

because they are alone, alone, alone;

yielding, giving themselves up at every turn,

crying because they can’t hold on to their love.

Love obsesses them. The lovers live

for today; knowing little else, it’s all they can do.

They are always going,

forever heading elsewhere.

They wait—

for nothing, but they wait.

For what they know they’ll never find.

Love is a perpetual prolongation,

always the next, no, the following, step.

The lovers are incorrigible,

those who always—good for them!—have to be alone.

With serpents for arms, the lovers

are the hydra of the tale;

their neck-veins, too, swell up, serpent-

like, in order to throttle them.

The lovers cannot sleep,

for if they did the worms would devour them.

They open their eyes in the darkness

and terror seizes them.

They see scorpions beneath the sheets

and their bed floats as though on a lake.

The lovers are mad, stone mad,

forsaken of God and Satan.

Trembling and famished,

the lovers come out of their caves

to hunt ghosts.

They laugh at those who know everything,

at those who love forever, heart and soul,

those who believe in love as in an lamp filled with inexhaustible oil.

The lovers play at gathering water,

at tattooing smoke, at going nowhere;

they play the long, sorrowful game of love.

You don’t have to give in;

no one has to give in, they say.

The thought of conforming with anything mortifies them.

Hollowed out (picked clean from one rib to the next),

Death gradually distills behind their eyes,

and they cry and wander, adrift, until daybreak,

when trains and roosters bid their painful farewell.

Sometimes, the smells of damp earth, of women

who sleep, soothed, a hand between their thighs,

of trickling water, and of kitchens, reaches them,

and the lovers begin to sing between pursed lips

a song never learned.

And they go on crying, crying for

this beautiful life.

 And from Lebanon Gibran Khalil Gibran I discover this guy in the right moment, like any good book it founds you at the right moment. here I was reading "The Madmen" in crazy times in my life. it was the Medicine and the Catharsis i was needing. You can also find the link to the book on my links.

Here one of my favorites:

How I became a Madmen

You ask me how I became a madman. It happened thus: One day, long before many gods were born, I woke from a deep sleep and found all my masks were stolen,-the seven masks I have fashioned an worn in seven lives,-I ran maskless through the crowded streets shouting, “Thieves, thieves, the cursed thieves.”

Men and women laughed at me and some ran to their houses in fear of me.

And when I reached the market place, a youth standing on a house-top cried, “He is a madman.” I looked up to behold him; the sun kissed my own naked face for the first time. For the first time the sun kissed my own naked face and my soul was inflamed with love for the sun, and I wanted my masks no more. And as if in a trance I cried, “Blessed, blessed are the thieves who stole my masks.”

Thus I became a madman.

And I have found both freedom of loneliness and the safety from being understood, for those who understand us enslave something in us.

But let me not be too proud of my safety. Even a Thief in a jail is safe from another thief.

 Here where some examples of the poetry I like i hope you funded interesting, emotional, intelligent or MEDICINAL. 

SHALOM SALAM SHANTI

LAST BUT NOT LEAST A POEM BY MYSELF

 Spirits of the Woods

And as the time go, your heat, your toughs are in a different wave.
All the things you take for granted are taking another form, they are more complex but at the same time they are part of everything and so are YOU.

So in that second/minute/hour, you realize that all the time, you were another part of this HUGE MACHINE, and if you do something, this action is gonna have repercussions in all the UNIVERSE.

YOU ARE PART OF THE COSMIC MACHINE

As is Up, is Down.

The universe is a representation of the universe inside you.

YOU ARE THE CHOSEN ONE, YOU ARE THE ONE
YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL.
YOU ARE ALIVE.

By Cesar De Alba