Life & Letters – p raja
EVERY poem is from the heart and every heart is itself a poem. Heartless people can never be poets and zombies never write poems. When the heart grows heavy it fills one&’s eyes with tears that stream down the face and lessen the burden of lived experience.
And then there are moments when tears fill our eyes and the mood involved is one of joy.
Every teardrop, whether the result of joy or sorrow, speaks of the experience the heart undergoes. Our sweetest songs are those that tell not only of our saddest thoughts but also of our most joyful moments. Poems are nothing but teardrops, expressions of the heart. This is also why poets can’t write verse just for the bidding.
At least, I can’t do so.
One can write a short story, a novel, a play or even an essay when it is assigned and no writer worth his salt would ever say “no” to an such assignments unless he/she is neck-deep in water. But no poem comes out when assigned. Every poem needs a gestation period and every poet is blessed with a womb in the brain. All things that touch his/her heart and causes a disturbance take the shape of poems. And writing a poem is akin to delivering a child.
The poet is not sure of what happens to him/her when the process takes place. Here is a short poem that tries to describe the pleasant situation.
I know and I do not know What urges me to write this poem?
I do not know. Theonly thing I know is that I am not what I was.
Yet the pen moves swifter as usual on paper making smudges all over with twists and turns.
I do not know what I will be when my poem is done.
The only thing I know is that my pen will hold back its tongue.
And the white paper will remain immaculate.
Well, the brainchild is born with a palpitating heart, of course. I have simply clothed an idea with words.
Now, it is up to you who reads this to ask my child a question. I am sure you will not do so unless you like a child whom I have allowed to wander. But if you happen to come across my child and, if at all, you take a liking to him and you ask, “Hey, child, who is you father?” and if he mentions my name then I am a poet, blessed by the goddess Saraswati.