Part of my poetry collection, Margins of the First Draft—I know how this poem was written. This one I remember: I was listening to an Egyptian singer, and I was struck by how he conveyed obsessive love. I wanted to borrow that style, because it was so strong and somehow unhinged that I wanted something like it in my own writing.
15. In Desperation she cried
What is the worth of my love
If I can not paint the city walls
With the colour of his eyes
Poetry on the Margins #15 The Worth of My Love
It's the writer’s ache —
to immortalize this feeling of admiration,
desperation, longing, ache.
Whatever you wanna call it — it is.
Otherwise, what was this feeling worth?
If I can't create from it,
grow with it,
carry it with me,
remember it...
Did it even
exist?
There's more of my work:
If you like short stories I have them scooped up into one category (including the six-sentence stories).
The Nervous Poet at the SSC&B can be followed here.
There is also poetry.
More personal entries can be found at the Blog.
There's also the IT studies blog in Estonian and "Chaos in Spring" on YouTube, Spotify and other streaming services.
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