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.