I woke up before the Sun and followed the calling of the waters,

I lingered and let my hands shake with the songs of the dolphins,

I dived deep into the waves for words,

I held my breath for hours and gathered them like pearls,

My precious obsessions.

When I came back to myself

I walked the shore line slowly, up into our mountains,

I approached the white house with its majestic white walls prolonging the cliffs born out of the ever black sands and

I saw you,

My lost poet, diving into your waves.

You,

Eternally young into your old age, as your hands, as the ancient walls enclosing you, as the shores of the Atlantis calling back its God Kings, as the love of our freedom fortress,

You,

My undiscovered poem,

Sitting in the middle of the smallest of rooms, where you sometimes make me lay naked and just look at all my lines saying your name only,

But you hear more and beyond that,

You,

My forever verse running through my blood without an end,

You,

Surrounded by your books, never touching, but burning everything with your quiet, calm, all knowing eyes,

Waiting,

You,

The healer of these cliffs and rocks and seagulls,

In front of the sea of words flying out through the window from under your fingers,

As mine flew from under mine,

You,

With the same hands that touched my hair and my lips, reaching for your pen,

The same that gave birth to me on your pages,

And you on mine,

You,

My unfinished story for which I keep on seeking, keep on searching for my truest of me, keep on coming back to every summer,

You,

Sitting in a serene storm above me, hearing my steps walking your song,

While I watched you in despair,

Then and now,

Knwoing that your story is there under your lashes just as you believe mine is,

I hear it crawling down on the sunburn walls towards me,

And mine climbing up, reaching towards you,

The unspoken lines come and come to life inside of me,

To take me to you and

Sit me in front of your hands so that you can see clearly

The story that, unlike me, you always find its end,

You always know and finish it,

Sometimes on your pages

Sometimes om my skin,

You know what word comes next,

Even after I scream your name,

You,

You always know and write its calling.

M.

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2 thoughts on “About the Calling

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