kamand-kojouri Quotes About poetry

“I've written you sixty-seven love poems. Here’s another one for you. But really, for me. These poems are the candles that I light with the fire you have ignited in me. I place this candle here and another there so even if the stars have argued with the moon and are sulking away in a corner, you can still find your way to me. Sixty-eight poems now. What does the future hold for us? Joy? Disappointment? Gentle caresses? And subtle neglect? I hope the good is more than the bad. Much more. For what is the point of love if by lighting these candles our own flame loses its brightness? I know the good is more than the bad. Much more. I cannot wait to write you sixty-nine.”

“I haven’t written you a poem in years it seems. How can it be my fault when the words to describe you have not yet been created? When the alphabet lacks the very letters? How can it be my fault when your loveliness only grows by the time I reach for pen and paper? Tell me how I am at fault when I am only a beginner in poems and you are exquisite poetry? To write you in words is to put a veil upon you. Why must I write when I can kiss you instead?”

“Ask of your eyes to see only to seek love. Ask of your mouth to speak only to utter words of love. Ask of your hands to feel if only to touch the lover.”

“Let us remember to always rediscover one another because we are forever changing.”

“All I need to do is place my pen against paper and your love writes for me.”

“Love, they said, burns you and builds you. But with you, there’s no ash. Just light.”

“I fell in love and then I became love.”

“What is this love that makes me see beauty, and makes every beautiful thing bring you back to me? What is this love that makes me declare 'I love you' even though I uttered it only a moment ago? What is this love that keeps growing even when my chest is sore and it hurts to love you any more? Tell me: How am I to find what this love is when it was the one to find you, me, this verse, and this universe?”

“Like a pair of old slippers, I feel comfort and warmth as I slip into you. No, that is too crude. Like the match to the wick, I ignite when we touch. My counterpart and life's purpose. Yes, as though I've known you my whole life. Every scar, every failure has become an affirmation of what should be: You. Yes, as though I've loved you my whole life.”

“Does God know the number of kisses before we fall in love? Yesterday, I was nobody and I believed myself important. Today, I feel my worth in you. You, with your emerald eyes and ebony hair, even your heartbeat is beautiful. You, who is my greatest joy, all other concerns vanish in your presence. You swallow time and consume space, inspiring all my passion with a single embrace. I love your existence.”

“Knowing you, I understood myself.”

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Author:Kamand Kojouri

“Knowing you, I became mindless. Having wasted previous wishes, I'm riddled with regrets Feeling you, I became hopeless. Adrift in chasms, I surrender to a caress. Loving you, I became love. My universe became love. Planets rotate on love's axes and apples fall to be near their beloveds. No longer a rationalist, I assert my existence with love. I love, therefore I exist, therefore I love.”

“For all these stars, nothing is new. They’ve seen all kinds of wars and miracles, too. They know the messengers with their holy books will smile and wash their hands in blood. They know the politicians with their good looks will make the poor eat pies of mud. They’ve seen the Earth freeze and then burn with greed. They’ve seen the trees and the seas emptied. Yet, you won’t hear their sneers when a man arrives and, having experienced a number of years, proclaims: 'I have lived!' Because nothing is new under these stars: the lies, the love, the memories and scars, the ruin, the revolution, the fakes and true, the families, the friends, none of it is new. All of it—even the me and you.”

“Everything I have become, everything I will ever accomplish cannot compare to my most impressive feat: I have loved you fiercely and assiduously with the very marrow inside my bones. So that when I die, they can crack them to find you there. So that when I die, they can open me up and see your name tattooed on the wall of my heart. So that when I die, my epitaph will neither commemorate who I was nor what I did, but will read: “She loved. And loved. And loved.” And so, I smile now, because that is no small thing.”

“You just wait. Soon, lovers all over the world will be reciting poems dedicated to you. This is my promise.”

“Your eyes are like heavy rain falling from pregnant clouds. With one glance, you washed away the poems I chalked on the ground and drowned all my beliefs. Now, I only scribble your name and believe in your truth. I know nothing but you.”

“Where were you when I undressed and told the tales of my day? Where were you when I was silent with God in prandial pray? Where were you when I recited love poems as I lay? Where were you?”

“Poetry is seeing everything when there is only one thing. It is looking at a rose but seeing the stars, moons, seas, and trees. It is a truth beyond logic, an experience beyond thought. Poetry is the Earth pausing on its axis in order to manifest itself as a rose.”

“A poetess is not as selfish as you assume. After months of agonising over her marriage of words—the bride— and spaces—the groom, she knows that as soon as she has penned the poem, it’s yours to consume. So, without giving it a think, she blows on the ink and the letters fly away like dandelions on a windy day, landing on hands and lips, on hearts and hips. But more often than not, you can easily spot them trodden and forgotten, becoming sodden and rotten. Yet, she will continue to make what’s others to take because selfishness is not the mark of a poetess.”

“Think not of the fragility of life, but of the power of books, when mere words have the ability to change our lives simply by being next to each other.”

“Think not of the fragility of life, but of the power of books, when mere words can change our lives simply by being next to each other.”

“This poem was meant to be unwritten. But I am writing it now and have thereby changed destiny.”

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Author:Kamand Kojouri

“I write our names on the page. What of it, if the paper will be burned? I write our names in the sand. What of it, if the shore will be washed by waves? I write our names on trees that will be cut and benches that will be painted, but what of it? I will keep on writing our names because in this world of ephemera, You and I are the only constant.”

“I was mistaken when I said you live in my heart. How absurd I was when you live in my fingertips so that everything I touch is you. How foolish I was when you live in my toes so that everywhere I go there's you. How senseless of me to say you live in my heart when you breathe in my lungs, walk on my mind, and drink in my mouth. I came to pen another poem for you, but even every unwritten poem is you.”

“Sit here, so I may write you into a poem and make you eternal.”

“I spent all night weaving a poem for you to wear. You look so beautiful when you wear my light.”

“Poetry is jealous of you tonight, for as soon as I come to pen a few words, your perfume attacks me in the most civilised manner and I forget myself. I forget the poem. I forget the ...”

“I am certain, my love, that poetry was born only after your birth.”

“Reading poetry is like undressing before a bath. You don't undress out of fear that your clothes will become wet. You undress because you want the water to touch you. You want to completely immerse yourself in the feeling of the water and to emerge anew.”

“I couldn’t have dreamed you into existence because I didn’t even know I needed you. You must have been sent to me.”

“For me, you are fresh water that falls from trees when it has stopped raining. For me, you are cinnamon that lingers on the tongue and gives bitter words sweetening. For me, you are the scent of violins and vision of valleys smiling. And still, for me, your loveliness never ends. It traverses the world and finds its way back to me. Only me.”

“Whenever you keep score in love, you lose.”

“Poetry isn’t an island, it is the bridge. Poetry isn’t a ship, it is the lifeboat. Poetry isn’t swimming. Poetry is water.”

“I wonder if you ever read my poems and wish they were written for you.”

“Here's another poem, like all others before and after, dedicated to you. There isn't anything left to be said but I will spend my life trying to put you into words. You who is every goodness, every optimism and hope. Your love is a better fate for me than anything I could wish for. If you are a part of me, then you’re the best part. And if you're separate from me, then you are my destination. But I’ve become a weary traveller, so please, let us never be apart.”

“I only wrote prose before I met you. My musings were superfluous and serious as well. But now the words dance with me. I sing with them and we create poetry.”

“I left the bank because they wouldn’t deposit my cheque of poems. So I went to the store, but they didn’t accept my currency of words. So I boxed all my stories and took them to charity. But they refused my donation and asked me to give blood instead. I opened the notebooks and made them look, 'What do you think I wrote these in?”

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Author:Kamand Kojouri

“Sadness is an invitation to God.”

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Author:Kamand Kojouri

“Every book has to wait for the right time to be read and understood.”

“She might not have read many books. But when she reads a book, she swallows the very words. If you open the books on her shelves, you will find that the front and back covers encase white pages.”

“I came to pen another poem for you, but even every unwritten poem is you.”

“There is no revelation in my words. I am merely stating what others have forgotten to write down.”

“Lovers dream of one more embrace. One more kiss. One act of love, no matter how small. For in loving, lover and beloved emptied themselves. Now, they look for their oasis like men engulfed in flames. Even filled to the brim, they will never satiate. For they continue to leak, these cracked vessels. How else did love seep through?”

“When you are here, God is near.”

“These poems are cups that I pour my love into. Here, Drink!”

“Believe me when I say: 'Out of all those around, she’s the best locksmith in town.' Her stethoscope ears know when the dials of your heart click into place. She’s been cutting keys for years. You don’t stand a chance with that flimsy case. Alas, no matter how you lock your heart— bolt, fixture, and key— she’s got nimble fingers that pick locks for free. Padlocks and deadbolts are all in vain. Why do you even bother with that chain? She’s way too smart. Along with ours, she’ll have your heart. And you will see that the best locksmith in town is she.”

“If I had to choose between all the books in the world and you, then I would choose to read your body for the rest of my life.”

“I began to write because of love. I wrote to understand what I felt and what I knew.”

“I have no use for these other loves. Seal them shut in jars and place them in the pantry. A reserve of love. Thank them for their love. They are so kind. Perhaps store them in the fridge For others to take. They say love is a panacea. I know it is not. Flakes of snow, no two are alike. When I am down on my knees, hopeless and angry, for the world no longer makes sense, I won't look in the pantry or fridge. It is your hand pressing on my shoulder that makes me whole, makes me forget. What trouble? What world?”

“Listen. Do you see that you can’t hear snowfall? Look. Do you sense that you can’t see love? Touch. Do you grasp that you can’t catch poems? Try. Smell this glass. Go on taste this cloud. These material senses won’t get you far until you feel the velvet glove caress your soul.”

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