In Search of Poetry

One fine evening, as I picked my pen;
And turned the pages -
I wondered what to write about.


I thought I’d write about the blue skies;
The lush greens that house the butterflies-
The ocean deeps – the mountain highs-
The abundance that overwhelms human eyes.

But all of it felt too divine
For this mere poetry of mine.


Then the idea crossed my mind-
To write about the instances unkind;
The lack of empathy that’s engulfing mankind-
A few selfish people pulling the country behind.

But as I looked around myself,
These verses did not do much help.


So I thought; why not write
About my lovely day so bright-
The tricky ventures that went alright;
How we survived hundred-and-eighteen Fahrenheit!

But as I went into more details,
Words just appeared to fail.


Puzzled, disappointed and dismayed,
I looked where my paper laid.
Ah! A new revelation had been made-
Poetry had already found its way.


And then it finally dawned upon me-
What I was trying to find so acutely;
Nothing mattered- the subject or its beauty-
The music was within me. I was the poetry.

Almost there.

On the darkest of days, the light of your soul guides me home.

The sound of your laughter is the sweetest song that ever stirred my ears.

She

You are a pretty Flower; They told her.

Pretty.

Soft.

Gentle.

Your fragrance permeates the air.

Your colours allure the eyes.

Your delicate petals hold all the softness of the universe.

And then they conveniently plucked the petals

With their cruel fists.

Adulterated her fragrance

With their filthy smells.

Stained her dazzling colours

With their murky, smutty hands.

Left her withered.

Faded.

Tainted.

You are the vivid Sun; they told her.

Vivid.

Glaring.

Invincible.

Your light blinds the world.

Your aura dazzles the sphere.

Your warmth engulfs the galaxies.

And then they swamped her light

With their gloomy souls.

Stole her warmth

With their abusive manners.

Crushed her aura

With their abasing ways.

Left her bland.

Dark.

Cold.

You are the free bird; They told her.

Free.

Fleeting.

Unshackled.

Your mighty wings enfold the skies.

Your enchanting songs mesmerize the spirit.

Your fearless flight inspires the bashful.

And then they slit her wings

With their self-pronounced regulations.

Suppressed her music

With their deafening yells.

Curbed her flight

With their convenient limitations.

Left her fallen.

Muted.

Broken.

And as they basked in the glory

Of their gruesome acts;

Rejoicing in their vicious victory-

She rose.

She picked herself up.

Her withered petals.

Her broken wings.

Her muffled songs.

Her diminished lights.

Her stained colours.

Her tired warmth.

And stirred them all.

And She rose.

She swirled.

She soared.

Stronger. Higher. Tougher.

And every single time;

They cut her wings,

Or crush her petals;

Or hush her voice-

She will rise. Again.

Stronger. Higher. Tougher.