I travel across lifetimes as my spirit spills out in the form of black ink and the page is no longer limited by lines and margins. These pages can hold what the world cannot express and my voice asserts itself against imperceivable rivals as I close my eyes and my pen touches the page. There is no one here but myself looking in the mirror with only my lenses, as imperfect as they were created. With my pen I move past myopic vision, challenging the horizons I see with my eyes to travel to the places whose existence is only affirmed in my heart. The words guide me to one another as they were meant to be formed, as the synapses light up like city lights at dusk. Somewhere in the city I hear a whisper of a song yet to be materialized into the melody of a revelation, revealing itself at the hints of the dawning day. I open my eyes to retreating darkness and- as the sun comes up I feel poetry- running through my veins like rivers from my heart to my pen to my voice. There is a hush. And someone in the audience breathes the same breath and I am reminded. That maybe, I'm not the one writing. At all.
**Not to be counted in the contest, just sharing my love of poetry. =)
[Photo: Maziar Hooshmand]