Storytelling

a poem by Roger B Rueda

It is the only granny knot left, we know,
or only some of us,
once we see this coming to blows
of the world.
We share our souls through it,
through prose, through texts
like black water set in paper
or vocables haunted
by the spirit of thoughts.
It has stacks of resonance.
When she buried herself in a work,
she had to stop as she was
taken aback. She thought
How could he know
about me?
Why has this work come
into my life?
She felt like it was about her time
and had to stop
and let her kindred spirit know about it.
She met her kindred spirit
when she was all of ten,
they were family friends,
but she never recognised him.
But she remembers, even then,
longing
for her kindred spirit.
It wasn’t until she was all
of twenty seven
and had loads of experiences
where she thought she had met him
but to find it not so,
that she saw her kindred spirit
after many years of not seeing him
and only hearing about him
and rarely running into him.
She got news, sad news, and went
to see his family.
When she saw him, she felt the pull
of the cosmos to go to him
and hold him close,
so she did. It was like the world stopped,
the crammed full room
with peering eyes
were as nothing
and he was the only one
in the room. She saw luminosity
in him,
she saw all.
She felt like she never
understood life
till that moment.
As they held in each other’s arms
she heard a voice utter
he is the one,
he is the man
you will get hitched at some point.
You’ve by now been
married, in fact. She felt the shock,
incredulity,
wholesome delight.
How could this man
she had known most of her life be
who he was?
He looked at her absorbedly
and she knew he was experiencing
it, too.
It took ages of struggle
and even interlude of peace
to believe
him and he to her.
She felt from that day
she saw him that
there was no one
in the world she could be
in love with
more and she needed to be a piece
of his life,
that he was a part of her, too.
They wound up
in a link of consequence,
but not anything could bring
their flame
to a halt,
not even themselves.
They rarely spoke,
and if they did they broke silence
through the idiom of the cosmos,
their vigour. She knew
when he needed her even
when he was miles away
and he to her.
Now, her kindred spirit
and she smooth the way
to go behind their dream and
hound their own fairy tale.
He really is a little bit of her
and she to him,
their connection is sacred,
substantial, caringly,
absolute, just right.
The tale came into her life
when she, too, was searching
for the augurs of the world.
She had been trying to chance upon
understanding of things
that she couldn’t realise
(like her kindred spirit’s being
and link).
She had been talking
to her kindred spirit about moving
somewhere far-flung.
She had felt like
that was their home.
She had had a very strong tie
with a pernickety part and felt
a connection with the surowanos
many centuries ago.
When she buried herself
in the hardback,
it was like lights going off.
She finally understood
her need to go there be there,
the dreams she had been having
and also her surowano links,
the design straight off,
as she didn’t believe.
That same voice from many years
before rang
that in a past life
she was a surowano.
She knows this is an incredible legend,
but that is why she is sharing it.
Her belief and her whole lot
she was taught to believe went
against the idea of rebirth.
But how could she disagree with it
after meeting
her kindred spirit from a past life?
If she had one life with him
and reminiscences
of surowano life then anything
was realistic.
She is grateful to the person behind
the work
for helping her
to agree to and be glad about
the magic in her life.
She believes the work was a book
from her creator to her.
Her kindred spirit and she
will be going out somewhere
far-flung
to follow a dream.
Their life is justly magical,
beautiful,
superb, to them. This is her tale,
it doesn’t have to be anyone
else’s, but she knows and
can make clear to you
that kindred spirits
do keep their heads
above water,
that if you are looking
for yours, you shouldn’t
ever bow out.
This enraptures my heart
and rivets my mind,
it states virtue in the smoothness
of sentiment, it turns into truth
in the billows of perplexity
and trickery.
Is it to have reality
the uppermost emergence
of magnificence? Perhaps.
Love and audacity are born from it.