Prena Poetry

I wonder if I could ever be Neruda, Rumi or Green. If I could ever have their knowledge to hold a pen and name the wildest world I create. I wonder if I can ever be enough and not enigmatic.

Despite having so much of you in my heart, I still can’t fabricate about how much I have to left to tell you. But what I know is, I can never be Neruda, Rumi, Green or just anyone else. I can’t be them. Because I am the me, the one you chose to love. I am me, and you make me, me. Which is the ever most beautiful thing in the world. That even if I’m a wrecking landslide or a hurricane, I would never need to change, when you would so easily take me in and water the trees I planted.

We will die someday, but I think it would be heavenly enough to die beside you and have our epitaph together in some far away place with white flowers and lingering nostalgia. Perhaps, I would live a thousand years but I can never love, if it is not you.

And I wonder why, why, of all the pieces in the universe, of all the time and terrors, and unfathomable hearts. Somehow, now I understand, I had to coexist with you; be a form of art in your arms. And this is all I ever want to be here and to be with you.