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THE SOUL AND THE POEM.
So it happened, what happened?
Poetry came, Lush, swiftly, slowly
I didn't know where it came from, when it came how it came
I didn't know, I just didn't know
Maybe may be from the tree or the river from the North or the South
There I was, formless without a thought
And it came and touched me
It wasn't a voice, it wasn't a word, my lips made way yet dump
My eyes were open yet searching
The unusual started in my soul
Passion, fire so keen and pulsating
My heart broke loose
And I, intoxicated with the miraculous infinite image of mystery
I saw the universe unfastened and open
Planet palpitating plantations
Shadows punctured and riddled with fire arrows
And I, fearless in the heat of what sets my soul on fire
I scribbled the first faint verse
Faint without substance, pure nonsense, pure wisdom from someone who knows nothing
Pure verse so revealing, magical, cleansing, truthful, captivating, mesmerising, connecting deeply and so powerful
I scribbled, I scribbled again and again
Next, it was an escape from personality
An escape from emotions
Emotions that have found thoughts
And thoughts that have found words
Words so alive, and capturing the deeper essence of what I feel
Like the seer and the prophet, making me deliver sublime messages without knowing in the least of what I mean
Making me see beautiful, what's distorted
In an age, where the need to be black and white
Needs to be answered
Trying to flee from the cocoons of ambiguities and complexities
Poetry gives us wings to fly
To see beyond the literal
To find the extraordinary in the mundane
To wrestle with what may seem unsayable and unimaginable
My scribbled verse says
Every single soul needs poetry
If you cannot be the poet, be the poem