The way you say ‘Earth’ sounds ancient. You are from the home of my soul, a place whose beauty breaks my heart time and time again. You call mountains ‘beinns’, valleys ‘glens’ and lakes ‘lochs’. Its meandering rivers are your veins and the forests your lungs; every day you give me life.
Now I am walking on these cobbled roads that lead into the wilderness of my own heart, on the way to nowhere and everywhere I breathe rain. The sudden change of weather shows a harshness that runs in your blood. The skies, you used to say, are something else: rough around the edges with a soft spot in the centre. As I am passing a river bend, I remember you.
You have told me they call them ‘gargantas’ in Spain, the throat of the river. I always wonder what stories the water would tell, if we only listened. The vibrant green of the hills, I chase it in my dreams and recall memories of us walking in silence through mystical forests and deep glens as you drank magic from their enchanted burns. The barren landscape made me cry. The feeling of freedom and unity it evoked that day, I had never felt it before. A memory still alive in my heart as I water is running down my spine.
I keep on walking, not sure if I ever want to arrive. The path is my life now, step after step I am getting closer to where I am meant to be and forget what I was running from. I revel in things that don’t make sense and kill giants on my way up north.
Autumn has arrived and we have become memories in each other’s lives, every day is a day closer to the ultimate sleep. The wind is blowing colder and our voices speak wiser. The mist is lingering on the mountain in the morning as a lonely sun beam warms our weary bones.
My heart is beating at a rhythm that has been in tune with yours since we met each other in a previous life. You smiled, I smirked for we both knew what I was talking about. We have always kept each other company whilst living in solitude. Daydreams that I shared with you have become realities that we live in. We are a photograph of time that I carry close to my heart. My way has become more solitary. You know that I need to keep on walking, I know you are where you are meant to be.
The wind is rising and I am floating. ‘Let’s run away!’ is what I want to say, ‘Stand still.’ is what I want to hear. My thoughts travel at the speed of light, my body is driftwood and places that I cannot pronounce have become anchors in the ocean of chaos. Standing on that cliff I was one with mother earth and nature devoured me.
All that I am is right in front of me. No silver lining on the horizon, only the rain beating against my temples as I keep on wandering.
***
Standing on the shoulders of giants
Born into this world,
a choice your parents made
one that you cannot understand.
Paul Auster speaks to you,
reminds you of what it means to be a human being,
to live a life focused on the interior.
His words are a revelation,
one that you were waiting for.
He is calling you,
seducing you
a struggling poet, looking for the things that were left behind
in an imperfect world.
You wish you could write like him,
you wish you could write like you.
Have you lost your dreams?
Coincidence, moments, emotions
A solitary soul falling into oblivion.
The universe is manifesting in one single breath,
repeatedly.
As your words appear out of nowhere,
you feel nothing.
Letters form words that build sentences that shape people.
They laugh at you.
You need to write,
writing is survival,
just keep on moving forward,
with the pen,
fill blank pages,
smell paper.
Will you ever be empty?
Writing breaks you,
Translucent pieces flying through the air.
You are me, her, him, them- a fraction of a unit,
a new beginning.
Distorted with fear
you live in the now, trying to forget the past.
Exhaustion, limitations, failure;
the hand which kills you is your own.
Where voices once were above white broken sky,
the world became blind.
As you jump in the river
the water casts a chill on your skin,
you are flesh and bones, fluid, ever-changing,
in tune with nature.
We come from nothing and are everything.
Tired eyes on white pages,
the pen spills the last drop of ink
as you cry poetry.
About the Author
My name is Laura Lodahl. I’m from Germany and have written audio plays for a local radio channel when I was studying in Leipzig. I’ve been taking part in poetry open mics in Germany and Scotland but prefer to contribute to an online platform.
I have always been writing, mainly about identity, belonging and mental health and have finished the Advanced Creative Writing module at the Open Uni this year.I write poetry and short stories in English and German, and I’m particularly interested in life writing. For the last years, I have travelled and lived in Europe and a lot of my writing has been inspired by people who I have met and places I have seen. You can find me on Instagram.
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