I Read Poem by MARIE CLAIN

I do not read as we can claim
I do not read as bound eyes and memory attached to it

I read through my memories

I read through the living book that I write
With the ink of my blood that has a thousand times taken new colors
With the water that sank on my cheeks
With the heat revealing the traces of my feelings on the papyrus

I do not read as we can define it

I read a few clicks here and there
Lines that suddenly come to me to transcribe my emotions and my ideas

I read like the butterfly frolicking from one flower to another
Carrying with him some perfume of smell that will nourish the ornaments of my words trotting on the mountains of my inner self.

I read as if we were taking walks in the wild meadows in search of theunedited flowers, hidden from the eyes of the world by their shyness

I read by picking up the petals of the words falling from the sentences of the flowers but having kept their sense and eternal essences.

I read like the pebble making ricochets on stagnant water
Leaving behind a whole world that will be caught by the eyes of another.

I read by plunging deep between the lines and emerging like the treasure seeker.

I read in as if whirling and capturing yesterday's moment by my eyes today.