What is poetry?
.
.
.
I don’t know. But, I know, I write poetry. What is poetry for me may not be poetry for you (and vice versa too) because it is the freest art on earth.
Ever-changing. Touching. Classic. Forever yours. Eternal. Inspirational. Wild. Ahead of times. Advanced. Go on. Don’t stop. Awesome. Wow! Window to the soul. Psychic.
It has no form. Certainly, no rhyme, no meter, no style can contain poetry.
I cannot point and say this is poetry. My fingertips crave to touch poetry that flows along with the ink from my pen on to a piece of paper. But I can’t. I can’t even erase it.
It is the untouchable. Sometimes, the unthinkable too.
Poetry is. Always will be. It never was.
If you spin a tale, make every word sound the way it should, it is poetry.
If that word belongs nowhere else but in that verse, it is poetry.
If you cause chaos, it is poetry.
If you produce stillness, it is poetry.
Anything moves… it is poetry.
Every word, if it bleeds, if it cries, it is poetry.
If you hear someone crying far away upon reading it, it is poetry.
If it rouses antique, buried emotions, it is poetry.
If you feel good, relieved, or sad after you write, it is poetry.
If it buries a life story, it is poetry.
If it talks aloud in solitude and silence, it is poetry.
If you turn a page, it is poetry.
If, in the autumn years of your life, you write, it is poetry.
If there is more truth in it than creativity, it is poetry.
If your words have lived their life while you wrote them, it is poetry.
If you wake up in the middle of the night and write, it is poetry.
If what u write inspires, it is poetry.
If what you have written is enough to cover a grave, it is poetry.
If strangers smile at you, while people close to you walk away, it is poetry.
If a ship appears like a lighthouse, it is poetry.
If your words arouse the firefly in a woman, it is poetry.
If your brother follows your footsteps, it is poetry.
If many misunderstand your poetry, it is poetry.
If you listen to Bob Dylan even once, it is poetry.
Blinding lights? Or, are my words so bright?
Am I here? Where are you?
Do we see each other?
Are we staring into each other’s tall shadows?
Don’t close my eyes. Look into mine.
5 comments:
fantastic last line. it would melt anyone's heart!
very good post. really liked it.
Kavi,
Just the last line?
Hum bechare kalakaaron ke kabar main bhi dekho,
Toh aapki taaliyo ke liye tadapte huye paayenge...
poetry is like worship to you. every line of emotion you wrote there touches any passionate souls heart, for they have been there too, in a different way. you found it in poetry.
its an experience you have very beautifully scribed. it has always been and never was - how else do we describe worship, devotion.
you defined a very deep truth in such a simple way, most people wont even understand, leave alone reaize it. they need to be there to feel it.
simply wonderful.
a wonderful post.. and if i dare say, a poem (thats what a poem is to me :) ) that is a mirror of your own soul.
when shall we meet, my dear friend? would like to meet this person who writes in a such a refreshingly different manner.
~ranga
Kavi,
That felt good. Getting such a comment from you means I have really written someting well...
Ranga,
We shall meet. I don't know when par zindagi bahut lambi hain aur hamare paas waqt bahut kum...
We will meet for sure. Now, as you know, I am in Dubai... So we have to time our visits to India accordingly...
And, yes, that is poetry to me too...
I loved writing that piece like no other.
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