The richness and depth of poetics without borders

Meeting Benches is a place of connection, discovery and inspiration, an invitation to slow down, look around and see the art and beauty; people sit on its benches and share art, stories and thoughts. In this place of connection, between artists and art lovers you can meet artists, thinkers and dreamers from different cultures and backgrounds. You will discover that poetry is also art, because it allows everyone to express their personality through the words they choose to use. If you want to know writers, you can type, while for poets from all over the world The sole purpose of this site is to spread the knowledge of these artists and that other people appreciate their works. The ownership of the images that appear in this blog corresponds to their authors.

We asked Dastilige Nevante to summarize with his digital images both this post and a short poem: CHANGING SHADES – Shades of a dream creep into the folds of the fading day; colors that blend into a mosaic of emotions. The truth lies in the changing shades, mustard yellow and cherry red, which find the beauty of the ephemeral. Slight grains of light between the thumb and infinity ask the shadow to dance in a sea of ​​words. Each verse is a flap of wings, a soul that opens, a flower that shivers, a universe that loses balance. Love captures the invisible in those shades and draws its essence: we are a mosaic of colors, a nest of free thought.

François-Marie Arouet (pseudonym Voltaire), wrote to act and his greatest desire as a philosopher was to change the way people think and behave. Born on a November day to a wealthy family, he lost his mother at the age of seven, after which he became close to a free-thinking godfather. Voltaire had great intellectual passions and a vast culture. His ironic writing and an extraordinary curiosity about events found space for a prodigious ability to tell anything, even the emotions inherent in a love story. THE GREAT JOY – I loved the color of your smoke-colored socks and your sly cat’s eyes, and your voice that had fragments of frost and sudden flames that then fainted in the long moan of love. You had that way of offering your body with enthusiasm and suddenly withdrawing it, to excite and appear shy. You didn’t understand your belief that you were frigid. You were a very wise woman in measuring pleasures, you wanted them to be yours. You hated me asking if you liked it, you wanted to get to know yourself alone. It has always been an untold secret of our pleasure. That’s why I was in awe of you, which was also devotion, rejection. My God, how difficult it was to love you, and how difficult it is now to love women who know how to give themselves with only the reserves they have. Women who feel like women because they are men.

His social and political vision was projected in many of his songs, such as in the song “Pratina” (Oath). Suddala Hanmanthu had learned the teaching of instruments from professional singers and artists. His themes were freedom, democracy and equality. His poetry inspired the people of Telangana to participate in the peasant struggle against the oppressive rule of the feudal lords. He was born in the village of Paladugu, in the state of Telangana in India. He was an Indian poet of the mid-1900s. His Telugu folk song “Palletoori Pillagada“,, included in the 1980 film Maa Bhoomi, mobilized the population of his region of him. Here is one of his poems: OATH – We will eliminate caste and communal feeling and develop integrity. We will fight for independence; we are ready to sacrifice our lives to overthrow the Nizam. We will stop the Jagirdari system, which was a Moghal system. We will develop panchayati system and this is our promise that we will fight for people’s rule.

She was born in Gujranwala (Punjabon), on an August day in 1919. Amrita Pritam was a writer and poet. Later in her career, she began writing about dreams and spiritual themes. She is considered the first eminent Punjabi writer of the 20th century. “Pinjar“, one of her most famous novels, was made into a film of the same name. Awarded with prestigious awards, in her multi-year career she has produced essays, novels, biographies and poems. We want to offer you her unmistakable style with this poem of hers: EMPTY SPACE – There were only two kingdoms: the first threw out both him and me. The second one we abandoned. Under a naked sky, I was soaked in the rain of my body for a long time, he rotted in the rain of his for a long time. Then, like a poison, he drank the affection of the years. He held my hand with a trembling hand. Come; let’s try to have a roof over our heads for a while. Look, up ahead, there between the true and the false, a little empty space.

She was the youngest child of a family that mixed French, German and Spanish ancestry. Pita Amor’s poetics are notable for her expressions of metaphysical issues which she expressed in the first person. Born in Mexico City in 1918, during her life she was known both for her rebellion and boldness and for her lifestyle. Her family was shocked when she posed in a nude portrait. In the end Pita Amor was left alone; she died in Mexico City at the age of 81, accompanied by the ghosts that she wanted to forget: loneliness, abandonment and death. This poem of hers can help you imagine her, sitting on the same bench as you: INSIDE MY VAGUE SURFACE – Inside my vague surface, a constant movement rotates; It is the dust that renews everything, destroying it. Inside the skin that protects me and the flesh I am nourishing, there is an inner voice that names me; Tense dust. I know well that I did not choose the matter of this tenacious body, but helplessly I drag a chain of ashes: eternal dust. As I passed through the centuries, enduring the internal struggle, the dust was taking its food guts. Humanity, of the dust experiment! Why did I let go? Why did I detach myself from the mysterious and eternal current in which it was dissolved, to always be a slave to this tenacious and independent body? Why have I become a living being who bears a blood that is lava and the anguished darkness digs knowing that its boldness is powerless? How many times, thinking about my topic, have I considered it absurd and senseless, a farce of solitude and misery, a ridiculous creature of oblivion, a worthless mask of useless beauty and an echo that does not come from sound! Old dusty roots, my old dusty roots are the strange key to my captivity; tied to dust and its mystery, I bring other ignored essences. The scars of an eternal empire are already marked in my pores; the dust in me has marked the cautery, I am the victim of forgotten sins. In a dusty way I feel and to the new roots I must leave, with my anguished breath. But by conquering the air by assault, I have nothing to do with what I feel, I am an unhappy accomplice of something higher.


Check Also


Sometimes they are not enough; you need colors and shapes to enliven the words Poetry …