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Updated: Tue, 14 Apr 2020 03:07 pm

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I write for fun, to help me understand what's going on. I am a traveller without ground under my feet. I keep searching.


- In Absentia - You are imperfectly absent unlike god, you are in the empty house too big for me. You are outside, in the thick ancient walls where I run my hand and make my finger bleed. You reverberate in the space, surprised by my voice uncertain. You are the absent answer to a cry stifled in my mouth with a handkerchief. You are not where I reach out, when I try foolishly, because I know the house is empty, the bed all mine, the shoes too big for me

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.

Blog entries by Celia

Mild depression (19/10/2020)

Poems are not for happy days (14/04/2020)

Bird poem n.3 (04/05/2018)

On my way (12/05/2017)

lovesick (25/12/2016)

erotic agape (18/11/2016)

For Simone Weil (13/11/2016)

LDR (22/09/2016)

Renewal (25/06/2016)

Leaving (18/05/2016)

Read more entries by Celia…

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Fri 11th Dec 2015 12:27

Thank you Cynthia for your kind words. You pay me a real compliment. I think by 'traveller' I mean both that I don't know where home is, in a real as well as in an existential sense, and that I keep searching, and that I do so alongside other people, other travellers. Which, as you say, sometimes resolves itself in really travelling the world...

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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Fri 4th Dec 2015 16:16

Do you mean 'traveller' as in the word ''gypsy'? Or someone who simply 'travels'? Not sure there is a difference.

'In Absentia' is also really good. IMO, you have the touch of the 'artist', a gift which I think is very rare among writers. It's not just originality of ideas, but also their unusual association, and the power of diction to express these relationships in a meaningful manner.

Always just an opinion, and always with respect - always.

Sonia Gupta

Thu 3rd Dec 2015 11:46

Thank you for reading my work.

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