Valentine’s Day in Amsterdam

I spent two days working on this poem. Let me know what you think. =)

Please don’t mind the helicopter in the background. It’s the fan inside my laptop. i haven’t figured out what to do about that yet.

Valentine’s Day in Amsterdam

We were on the bus back from Amsterdam:
City of bicycles and coffee shops;
Where, by night, a man is akin to a
Window shopper, and the woman is the
Mannequin, selling not her clothes but what’s
Underneath. And the man pays for love he
Can’t get for free from human connection.

We were on a bus of college students
Studying abroad in the not so well-
Known country of Wales, talking about how,
When we tell people where we are, they say,
“Oh, you mean England?”

Then the dialogue
Veered into the familiar neighborhood
Of the one thing we want to accomplish
Before we kiss our lives goodbye and with
A satisfied smile, lay down to die.

So I said, “To fulfill my potential
As a writer.” And then he said, “Don’t laugh,
I want to fall in love and be loved back.”
At twenty-two, he had never been through
The groundless, steady rocking relation-
Ship stranded in the ocean with someone
Who can’t take their eyes off you long enough
To steer the ship. But you don’t care how love
Sick they make you. You wear your lifesaver
Like a tutu, then throw it overboard
Like a frisbee, and caution meets his old
Friend wind, who carries him ashore to wait
For you to wash up wailing, “Nevermore.”

I had forgotten what it felt like back
When all I wanted was to be gorgeous
And one day have someone just as gorgeous
Know how ugly I can be, yet love me.
Together, tumbling down a rabbit hole
Into the nonsensical world of us
Where the universe that is me collides
Into you, and a supernatural
Phenomenon erupts to make one world
Where gravity is banished and walls are
Hurled into the warm sky and vanish.

But I don’t like romantic comedies
As much these days because they have convinced
Our generation to scurry like mice
Looking for cheesy affection that could
Sustain their hungry, grumbly, love-starved souls.
But we can’t feed our souls the same food
That bodies need to be healthy and whole.

But the tragedy of the comedy
Is we swallow the candy hearts that say
Happiness is at the bottom of love’s
Drop, that it will cushion the heavy fall.
So everyone is staring at the ground
Looking for the next rabbit hole to dive down.
They are cooed into traps that
Snap shut on their noses, lured in by the
Sweet summer scent of a dozen roses.

Somehow people have forgotten to live
Because all they wish for is to be loved.
But I hope that you hear me when I say
Travel your road, don’t wander astray,
And the right person will walk your way.

You have to learn to love yourself before
Someone else can love you and you have to
Feel your own body from scalp to finger-
Tips to toes before someone else feels it.
You have to listen to your own heart beat
Before someone else can fall asleep to
The steady rhythm of life within you.

You have to be comfortable alone,
Bask and backstroke in your own company
Before a lover tests your waters.
When they do arrive, the warmer you are,
The more likely they’ll want to stay and swim.

Happiness lies in the leagues within you.
Romance is just one way to bring it out
But Cupid’s arrow can’t shoot it in you.

To the boy who wanted to fall in love,
I wanted to say, “Listen. It won’t be long
Until you get to sing your penguin song.
I’ve seen the earth from the moon
The whirling swirl of green and blue,
And once you decide to fall up, you will too.”

~ Salma

Why love? Because.

I brought two books with me to Wales: Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury and The Alchemist by Paolo Coehlo.

This is my first time reading Bradbury’s book. It’s fantastically written. I aspire to describe the way he does, to spin so many words together without producing a knotted incoherency. I was just reading before bed, and I think I’ve stumbled on my favorite passage in the book:

What could he say that might make sense to them? Could he say love was, above all, common cause, shared experience? That was the vital cement, wasn’t it? Could he say how he felt about their all being here tonight on this wild world running around a big sun which fell through a bigger space falling through yet vaster immensities of space, maybe toward and maybe away from Something? Could he say: we share this billion-mile-an-hour ride. We have common cause against the night. You start with little common causes. Why love the boy in a March field with his kite braving the sky? Because our fingers burn with the hot string singeing our hands. Why love some girl viewed from a train, bent to a country well? The tongue remembers iron water cool on some long lost noon. Why weep at strangers dead by the road? They resemble friends unseen in forty years. Why laugh when clowns are hit by pies? We taste custard, we taste life. Why love a woman who is your wife? Her nose breathes in the air of a world that I know; therefore I love that nose. Her ears hear music I might sing half the night through; therefore I love her ears. Her eyes delight in seasons of the land; and so I love those eyes. Her tongue knows quince, peach, chokeberry, mint and lime; I love to hear it speaking. Because her flesh knows heat, cold, affliction, I know fire, snow, and pain. Shared and once again shared experience. Billions of prickling textures. Cut one sense away, cut part of life away. Cut two senses; life halves itself on the instant. We love what we know, we love what we are. Common cause, common cause, common cause of mouth, eye, ear, tongue, hand, nose, flesh, heart, and soul.

But… how to say it?

“Look,” he tried “put too men in a rail car, one a soldier, the other a farmer. One talks war, the other wheat; and bore each other to sleep. But let one spell long-distance running, and if the other once ran the mile, why, those men will run all night, like boys, sparking a friendship up from memory. So, all men have one business in common: women, and can talk that till sunrise and beyond. Hell.”

<3 Salma

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© Salma Warshanna and bottledships, 2009. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Salma Warshanna and bottledships with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
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