poetry is my mother

it is not difficult
to understand poetry
but to know her well
you must wake up early
you must become part of her
see what she sees
feel what she feels
think, laugh, cry
love the way she loves
you must live the way she lives
you must take her by the arm and
go for a walk with her
making yours her footsteps

I love poetry
she is my inspiration
she gave me her faith
she has made me a righteous man
looking me in the eye she tells me
be careful and
remember always that I love you

poetry goes to the market and
cooks our food
she washes the dishes
does the ironing, cleans, sweeps
she tidies up everything and
when there is nothing else to tidy
she changes everything around
to give a different glow
to our house

poetry is a woman
that never tires
although sometimes in the afternoon
she watches the soap opera and
in between the real-life drama and
the imaginary
she falls asleep in her armchair
poetry has forged my future
she has seen me growing older
she has cried with me
poetry has put
her hand over my forehead
to measure my temperature and
she has made me drink
lemon tea with honey
she has given me advice and
I must admit, many times
has come to my defence
as she has always said
‘wide are my skirts
to cover all my children’
poetry has never forsaken me

yes! poetry is my mother
I went to school
I learned to write
what my heart feels
years have passed and
despite her grey hair and
her tiredness
poetry sits with me
at the kitchen table
to listen to me
talking about poetry

poetry feels proud of me
yes! poetry is my mother and
I love poetry