Wine and poetry

I could not refuse the invitation of my friend to participate in a poetry event named, “Wine and poetry” organized for the honor of Francophone’s days.
The event’s name attracted me, especially the wine part, and in order to escape a little from my self- observer comfort zone I accepted his invitation.
The event wasn’t held in the common places such as poetry halls, or conference rooms, nor on University libraries, but it was in a pub where they mainly served wine.
As far as my friend greeted with his friends, I sat on a long chair at the bar, I wanted to be invisible onto the Elite citizens’ sight, and it was hard for me to break my antisocial habit. Even in the middle of a crowd I would prefer being alone.
While someone started to read a poem about wine, I started to drink my red wine and initially felt its sweetness in my mouth, as I felt its sweet taste trickling into my throat, and its sway penetrating into my veins as a komorebi and felt like it was melting my frozen blood, to break through up to my head.
This was the most enjoyable part, it creates a myopic view, and it is that magical moment when the natural complexes are gone, the voices seem so distant, I could hear only the sounds of Jazz.
Although my head weighed down, all my concerns had migrated, I was holding my head with one hand and my glass with the other and felt the absence of my body. Then, I remember that there was a mess, many people came, they spoke about wine but didn’t taste wine, they were talking about poetry, but they didn’t sense the verses, I just kept nodding with my head while listening to them, therefore my body was following the rhythm of the music.
“I can see more with my eyes closed” I whispered to my friend.
“You are drunk,” he replied and put his arm around my shoulders.
“We are all beams of light, shining and sparkling to and for each other.” I continued to bother him.
“Hahah…” than I laughed and asked, “Do you know that the mind fears the heart?
“What kind of question is that?” he asked.
“The sounds of no sounds told me so, the heart is the master” I replied by keeping my eyes still closed. While his next question was, “What else did they told you?”
“That we are all blind, although we see. Look at that thin and tall poet, I know him since 20 years ago and he is exactly the same, even his outfit is the same. Do you know why? Because once we meet a person we get a picture of him/her in our heads, and it remains there. No matter how people change we always remember them as the first time we saw them. ” I replied and started to lose my balance. He caught my face with his hands and he was demanding me to open my eyes.
“Please, let me be me.” I begged him. I adored that feeling of nothingness, the point when you are your own center of the Universe.
“Your madness is terrifying me, let’s just go home” he suggested.
But don’t you understand that Louis Pasteur was right, “A bottle of wine contains more philosophy than all the books in the world.” 
“He was quite right, wasn’t he?” I asked. 
I don’t remember how many cups I drank, but I know it was too late, we missed the last bus and we had to return on foot, along the way he talked about wine, for those who sang about wine, Homer and Virgil, Balzac, Pablo Neruda, Kahjami, I talked about the secrets of the Universe that were revealed to me, nothing and everything made sense, if you could take off the weight on your shoulder, if you free you body, you can find the answers within… we had walked more than three hours.

© Copyright 2016 Burbuqe Raufi 


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