Boxing, poetry and love

"Live the questions now": this is indeed one of the wisest pieces of advice I have ever read in my life. It is as deep as the rain pouring in a Sunday morning or the hand of a clock, tickling the tickler of time. No, this is not an English mistake my darling, I do have the Certificate of Proficient English by Cambridge. Would they approve of my writing? The un and in conscious mass of botch that I make out and of Shakespeare's language. Nevertheless, trying to "win the confidence of what seems poor" I do wish to hinge on a single wasp that has bitten me today: boxing, poetry and love. What do these three instances have in common? What most readily comes to my mind is the theme of hope, of holding a single thought of truth in spite of everything, and mainly, in spite of the lies that are constantly repeated to you through despicable mouths made of blood and crippled souls. Actually, when a fighter punches his fellow it is not for the sake of violence, it is the sake of defence. Defence of movements, of body and of ideals. How about poetry? Indeed a punch: who does not gasp when hears the unexpected surge of energy that stems from lines such as "Oh Lord, how fool these mortals be", or even, "Love is anterior to life and posterior to death". Aren't those hard punches that reach the core of one's stomach and bring back vomits of blood and left overs of food? Indeed, boxing and poetry are connected are intertwined by a single mode of expression: vomit, left overs, things you would rather not mention, or simply expel from your body; but they do come back and demand an answer in return. And what's love has to do with it? Everything my darling, it is the very essence of our existence, the honey the wasp does not produce, the stain of a bee: what punches, what bleeds and what is brought back, everything at once. Withot stop, without break, fast as the sound of the wind all over the moon in the evening. All these to say I do believe in people and I do believe in hope. I do believe the words that have been addressed to me and the music they have provoked: the divine cadence of questions and of looking up to hope, the belief there is somethin better in store not only for me, but for the world. Am I dreaming? Absolutely, but this makes sense - such as a pair of green eyes I have caught a glimpse.