Kitschig

by muhammad ayman

Autumn is here. People don’t like it as much as they like spending summer on beaches and partying thee whole vacation or as they like winter with its romantic chilling and cozy warming under blankets  escaping the cold breeze of the beautiful rain outside their rooms. Autumn is overlooked. It comes while school is taking off a new semester and everybody is really too busy to focus on how special autumn is; and when they do it’ll be already winter. I’ve always thought it is poetry season, it felt so.
None of my ‘other’ friends or siblings like to read poetry but my closest one but not as frequent as I’d like to do, they think it’s cheesy or as we call it here “kitschig”. When they say so I know they’ve never read poetry, listened to Tom O’Bedlam reading poetry, or at least knew a poet for once in their whole miserable life. I know one personally who is also my favorite writer- if I am to choose one- and it’s overwhelmingly relieving the fact that we live on the same planet breath in the same oxygen molecules and look at the same sky every day and every night. I’ve always been different that my relatives and… actually everyone I knew. Everyone is they just haven’t recognized it yet, and maybe never will. Let’s not mention those friends who sign up for goodreads and add one or a couple of books to their bookshelves then never log in again. I hate that. There are too many people who do this but not as many as those weirdos. It’s even weirder to talk about it but people who were colleagues to whom I’ve never talked keep sending me messages asking me about ways to learn German and how could I so fast be so fluent when in fact I crossed half way to the top by self-learning. I bought a book called “Lingua” which my German high school teacher recommended to me and also is hard to find then spent my first semester break from the first year in my former college learning and reading to myself for a month and after that I took a course when there weren’t so many people there but I’ve already been in the upper intermediate level which cut the time I needed to finish courses and now people here get surprised that my language is as good as my mother language in less than a year, they don’t know what I’ve been through in this 12 month period when I was registered at school at the same time. Speaking of poems I read a book three days ago written by Rumi, I don’t know why I didn’t share my thought of it till now. It was beautiful and comforting that I’m not the only one who experiences the same deep feelings about someone that the poet wrote a whole book just to say to someone how his life was changed by his touch. A lovely poem from the book Where I felt every word he drew-yes, words don’t get expired even by the death of the writer or to whom he wrote- Rumi’s poem. Here’s to poetry and the prettiest and most delightful person who ever lived, you.

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