I am not a poet, and I don’t pretend to be one, but sometimes I feel like a poet. What does a poet feels? A great deal of things, I guess. One of them is the need to translate his deepest and strongest emotions and believes into a selection of words.
It happened to me this need to look for words to express my feelings. I should do it more often because it was a rewarding experience. I know the result is not a great poem. I know I shall never show it. Yet, beneath those assembled words is an important part of me. They are so me that it feels as if I had given life to them.
The fact that I was able to put my feelings into words unpacked a series of reactions, like a window opening to an unexpected world. Because of the aftermath of emotions, January 27, my Saturday evening of poetry, is by far the best of the month.