When letters wait to pounce on a blank page when thoughts crowd the mind like frothing **** in a pond I keep wondering what poetry is to me what poetry is to many
Is it not the language of the heart with no intervention of gray matter the unlocking of closed vaults stirring the embers of love, hurt or pain or giving a free rein to fancy and flying on magic carpets to lands forlorn
Sometimes it is a glide into a sea of tranquillity an escape from the humdrum of the world a flash of liberation from assaults of pain a sedative to numb the turmoil a sanctuary for a burdened heart a window to look at the world through a companion when one is inconsolably alone a candle flame in a darkening world a cloth line to hang the ***** laundry a water lily blooming in the pool of tears a shelter in homelessness
sometimes it is a ladder to climb up to Heavens an angel on wings with tidings of hope peace in a world braced for war
Poetry, if you are all these let us fall at your feet bless us in our art may we splurge in fancy and conjure up worlds from words!
our poems may not be light houses but could be fireflies on a starless night!
Thanks friends for the loving encouragement you have given! I must thank two of my friends in particular.... Kim Johanna Baker for giving an extra shine to my poem and Sarita Adhitya Varma for helping me post this poem when my repeated attempt at posting failed! She patiently directed me.