Saturday, June 12, 2010

White space

I did not stay.
I packed and went alone upon the highway
As we all depart once from ourselves
To find ourselves.

To our old dreams again.

My heart
Trusting in the future.

And that my passion’s lengthy road
Not uselessly I travelled…


Basque-Land said...

I am glad to have discovered your poetry. It resonates for me. I would love to hear your opinion of mine if you have any time.

Nazia Mallick said...

Thank you very much Rozanna

I don't call myself a poet yet.

Especially when I know that I just scribble lines as they occur, without rhyme or reason, but thanks a lot for making the effort worthwhile.

Nazia Mallick said...

Sure, I will go through all your poems with much delight, thank you so much for posting them.

Basque-Land said...

Then I really like your scribbles. You are very modest and talented. I think poems come from our spirit and just spit themselves out kind of. I have lots of scribbles everywhere on all shapes of paper and when I am ready, I sit down and and really work on them until they are what I want.

Webster's New World Dictionary defines a poet as "a person who displays imaginative power and beauty of thought, language etc. in writing or expression".

I think you qualify!

Nazia said...

Thanks a lot Rozanna!

Your appreciation means a lot.

I have always been greatly drawn to people who could write poems and artists, who could paint and sketch. I find myself admiring them from a distant place of awe and wonder.
I think poetry is a fate.

I am interested in your scribbles, and from what I have read so far on your website I am sure they are as profound as the ones you have posted.


Last night you wrote your sonnets in  Braille: the commas, parenthesis, ellipses engraved perfectly on my skin- and  I  ...