mvi_3737-68

travel poetry

Porto, Portugal: travel poetry

Porto is everything I could have never imagined. And nothing I tought it would be.

I hadn’t seen a single photo of the city before I went to see it.

I wanted our first encounter to be intact.

I wanted us to be strangers as once upon a time lovers were strangers before the first meeting.

And we were.

The strangers.

The lovers.

Who never went beyond the first touch.

Porto surprised me.

Guarded me.

As only a stranger could.

Was pleasant and gentle, asked me to stay.

Asked me to stay.

No one ever asked me to stay.

No one has ever played with my goodbye.

No one ever fooled me with that much wine.

I’m afraid I will never stay anywhere but I promised I’d be back.

To touch it once again.

It keeps the wine for me.

It keeps fado for me.

It keeps a dancing shoes for me.

The kind of a dance that can be danced only on the streets of Porto.

The kind of a dance I know only there.

porto portugal travel poetry

Have you ever been in love in Porto?

Have you ever been in love?

Have you ever let your joy not to be a hurricane?

Have you ever let the passion to end within you and break like a ripe apple, to never breathe out of your navel?

Have you ever allowed yourself to let off a silent scream downriver to the Atlantic Ocean?

Have you ever allowed yourself to forget under the arch of the city that drowned its pain in a barrel of wine and does not look like Venice at all?

porto portugal

Everything I didn’t know about peace,

Everything I didn’t know about the time standing still,

I saw in the city

Which river I crossed with the eyes closed.

Which river I crossed beleving.

One has to sleep through all the days in which is not bigger than a poppy seed.

One has to be a bird in a cage which door will not open from the outside.

One has to die and be reborn.

One has to drink and sober up.

One has to remain dignified and a women.

One has to breathe where breathing is easy.

I must never forget Porto.

I must never forget the tenderness and  lightness of being.

That much of the fish and wine, and the desire and peace.

That much of the peace.

There is no tears, no catharsis.

Just close my eyes and believe.

Just close my eyes and I’m there, still.

All of my nostalgia(s) I put into a fist.

All of my paths I merge into one.

All of my years I trade for the moment.

A moment on the bridge.

Porto.

My hair is in the color of the roofs

My dress in the shades of Douro curls in the wind

My back is straight and I am mature in youth

All bridges lead somewhere

This had already led me away

Alone

And I’m not lonely

What’s scarier than that?

porto portugal girl

photos by my dear friend: Jelena Jovićević

Leave a Reply