At 9:40 am in November of 2005 I “word vomited” (as Veronica Roth recommends as a way to start writing) in reaction to one line of a poem I read. “I believe the world is beautiful” is part of a poem called Like You by Roque Dalton. I have no memory of the poem, reading it, being required to write about it, or where it even came from. I do, however, remember writing about it. In a generic classroom during the second year of the soul-sucking education program at OUC. At least a few great things came out of the program!
Anyway, looking back on it, I quite like what I wrote. Upon deciding to type it up I figured I should check out the actual poem. HOW LOVELY! Wow. I read it like five times in a row. Ah. Love.
Enjoy what “I believe the world is beautiful” inspired out of me; and enjoy the surrounding lines of it in Like You by Roque Dalton.
Maybe the world isn’t beautiful anymore.
Or to everyone
Or all the time.
But the world is beautiful to me.
In some ways
On some days
Through certain eyes.
There is beauty in the air, on the earth, and through the water.
But destruction follows; is always there
the earth is torn
the sky is smoked
the water dyed with debris.
Natural destruction, human destruction.
Fire, earthquake, storm
Roads, houses, holes, tires, litter
Yet a fire renews: new life, fresh flora, continuing fauna.
Earth trembles, homes are rearranged, lives too; start fresh.
Storms come to clean the mess we make
Wash the world away, blow the wreckage down, swirl us all together.
Mother Nature puts up a good fight.
And we always strike back
We build more to keep her out, hold her back, beat her down.
But every day, we see that beauty.
If only we remember to look
A breeze to tickle a cheek hello
Make the leaves dance and blow
The sunshine peeks out in a shy good morning
Or a full force celebration of the day
Plays hide and seek with marshmallow clouds.
The clouds play too.
A fire breathing dragon, a guitar, a castle
Maybe even a friend.
Rain freshens the air, hail plays a song, and snow mutes the harsh truth of human form.
And every year, each season, all the days…
The beauty comes around.
We forget it, always, always, but it’s there
To sweep you up, knock you over, love you for that one moment of your gratitude.
Once in a lifetime
of every day.
Beauty is there
without pretence, regret, fear, argument, cynicism, defeat, neglect –
The world, its quiet beauty, just waits.
According to a notation on the bottom of the page I found, I got distracted by the class I was meant to be attending to and stopped writing.
Here’s Roque’s fabo poem.
Like you I
love love, life, the sweet smell
of things, the sky blue
landscape of January days.
And my blood boils up
and I laugh through eyes
that have known the buds of tears.
I believe the world is beautiful
and that poetry, like bread, is for everyone.
And that my veins don’t end in me
but in the unanimous blood
of those who struggle for life,
landscape and bread,
the poetry of everyone.
Hope that added a little beauty to your life today. Have a great one!