It is not easy to ask people to start writing about something around you, to extract the pearls of thoughts and the oysters of feelings. It is not easy to let people go with the flow to the horizons of expression.
In our activity, there has been something important for conducting all that. It is the trust; preparing the solid ground to start building the palace of poetry, the fertile soil that the flourishing entails, the love and trust between the arrivals into the poetry-walking, they’re no longer arrivals, they became part of StepEurope.
The speech of the hearts littered like the lit snow on Turku, on the thriving grass flanking the river, on the bestowed church leading to era of endless peace, on the giant castle stands like bouncer guarding the town. We walked against the directions, against the machine of modernism jangling loud, to the slight whisper of swaying trees, the flowers swarmed with bees, the abode of life-making filmed by poetry lens.
We wrote at the fountain washing out the dust of boredom, at the entrance of the old library in Turku, to the water that flows like melodies, as though gushes out of the orifices of the flute. The melody that would escort us as we step into the galaxy of knowledge, orbiting a mass of beauty called poetry and fiction, where no time or two parallel lines are reported to be found; it swallows your soul into a black hole.
We inhaled the fragrance of the old papers mingled with the inks flowing in the veins of the books.
We exhaled the stress and the false days, and took our time to deeply dive.We found a new poet hovering like a dove, alighted on the grove of poetry and love.
We wandered along the way to the Bar Ö, planning that the next time, we will climb into the scene, reading the speech of soul of our poetry walk!
Written by Ahmed Zaidan