Poetry

A lone figure at the edge of foaming waves on a wide beach, seen from above, her long shadow on the wet sand.

Poetry comes of its own accord and finds you, outside place and time. A click, a reversal, a birth.

There is a gap in time there. It is the moment when miracles rise on tiptoe. And then a “traveller” breeze blows. Every time, its force and its finality frighten me. Impossible to avoid it, to hide it under the rug. Poetry, then, for the hint, the transformation, the magic of shades and contrasts. Both darkness and light.

Valia Gentsou

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