Poetry & Photography by Idlore Eroldi

Photo by Idlore Eroldi

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I let the room fill with smoke, from me and the hearth,

for its warmth and musk.

I let my heart get filled with emotion, from building memories upon memories, for the stories it insists upon weaving.

I let my mind get overwhelmed with desire, for perfecting an art from start to finish

is something I rarely do.

We come from the blood of our ancestors, we remember their lives in times of seeking

spiritual guidance.

We forgave ourselves,

as forgiveness was bestowed upon us. Yet, we continuously strive

for equanimous self-expression.

We love one another

as divine fractals of ourselves reflecting infinite possibilities upon the imprints of our souls.

The world is weeping for its life,

for its people, for its natural resources like water, flowers, trees, and fresh clouds.

People are becoming angry

and aggressively directing their rage upon whoever’s subservient shadow meets their maker.

The spirit is rapidly progressing towards an unfurled fruit body, where the shell is ourselves

and all that will be left

will be what is beneath our skin.

What will we do when the world is over and only we are left?

Who if not you,

would be willing to be with their own symphony?

No one seems

to be able to withstand

the counter force of their own projections, a mysterious gravity of the mind.

If you could get here and now to be a happier here and now, would you,

could you,

should you?

I used to always wonder, a guiding principle,

I suppose an axiom.

The depressed mind argues for itself. Self-validated apathy is not legit

if what you’re looking for is respect. 

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What makes

the meadow glow in starry tones? In truth, I do — a human after all Inventions meant to better

Lasting gasping raspy breath teaming with forgotten dreams and resignation

The mistakes I made

the heartbreak

Lasts beyond...

as it cries...

And yet, I awaken from a gentle gaze — surprised The lies to which we are all entitled

It’s my fault, all my fault..

This is where I stand it seems:

Merry despite the warring ways

Try to catch it and you’ll find it slipping Let it be and be it whispering

It’s no -ism

It’s nowhere else but here 

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I do not wish to return to the past, so much as reconcile my relationship to it. Is this life simply full of relationships? Oh, the simplicity, yes? And the thread?

Please, tell me you see the thread...

Guided by the books of philosophers, scientists, teachers, and wizards. Yes, I have been reminding myself of the connection I have to writing. It has been a profound part of my healing process.

I need relationships that give me time for meditative reflection. Ideally, this never be spoken. The force of my natural beating heart has portrayed a universal fabric upon which I paint.

I have seen you in many forms...

You are the Beloved, and the Beloved is me. I am the Beloved, and I set myself free.

Eroldi Idlore writes poetry and prose that explores the written process within self-reflective environments. Their themes emulate curiosity, story-telling and conscious questioning of the world that is shared specifically through written language. They personally adhere towards themes which penetrate the fourth wall of our very existence as writers and readers. Currently, they volunteer as director and managing editor for WordSwell, a literary nonprofit organization based out of Oakland, CA, founded by Clive Matson.