Skip to main content

REBIRTH AS A POET

Can there be a rebirth in a single life?
A rebirth that too as a poet.
Remember the days,the gold old days.
I was running after my wishes.
My ambitious mind in search of a longdue fame.
Life was so fragile that time that
I couldn't recognise my simplest of happiness
For i was busy in other bigger dreams.
perhaps in such a moment i had got a paper
and i scratched a few lines on it.
That was it.
I realised it that day how does it feel to create.
'Is this what it feels to be god'I asked.
Simplest of work,unnoticed,hesitant
brought me tears in my eyes.
After so many days i bitterly wept.
Life was aloways at my doors
It was only me who had gone for it elsewhere..
Someone screamed,"you're a poet now..wow...u can be famous"
And someone whispered,
"Beyond the window lie your mundane desires
the fame you deserve
And here,somewhere,something is in store."
I went up to the window to shut it down.
And sat down....
Sat down with my first few lines of poems.

Comments

Anonymous said…
nice poem soumya...
Megha said…
this poet dusnt need a rebirth...

U already know the art of playing with wrds so well..
Once again.. WONDERFUL..

Popular posts from this blog

Untitled

You travel - Through unknown stations, passing empty paddy fields. over quiet rivers that rest beneath you. You bring a lot of earth along, And smell of mud, fish scales and trains.  You whisper and scream, Put your nails in me, occasionally call it love. Other nights, we make peace. Strangely at dawn, When the Sun rises and you see me sleeping,  I hear your whisper,  you travel ...   ... Deep inside me.

Untitled

Wish I could be a cloud one day I will love to be grey if its you To whom, through whom I traverse. Transparency is optimum; For I know you are unattainable like the sand escaping from the fist like the meaning assumed from the gist. look, oh yes, I can rhyme too. If you wish I can artify our world. Inspiration never needs a permit. You had asked, Why do I vomit blood. Interruptions in dreamy un-realism doesn't suit me. I know. So I write. So that I can breathe you in and breathe dreams out. Live long, you had wished. (Wished), did you? honestly? I will let it pass like just another Failed attempt to face reality Finds itself en-route to contamination. Oh! then what is pure? you may ask. Purity is not you, not me, but us. Purity is the way verses traverse. I will vomit to death one day. Do not pray for me. Pray for my poems who are quiet. Let them borrow my breaths. Let the poetry for us live. (And the footnotes conclude:) You - a miser in love Me - a happy lender. SoUmy@

Of Another Season...

On a day like today when an abrupt monsoon meets A delighted Sun, I think of you, like the dew drops on the petals - the freshness, eternal. On a day like today When my Neruda can sip coffee with your Joyce, you come to me as if memories were more real than now. They always were, are. On a day like today, When the translucent streets of my home gets wet and hears a tram go by, your thoughts occur. I feel you beyond those concretes and raindrops kamikaze. On a day like today, When my words seek no grammar and chases no metaphor, I think of poetry and I think of you. With or without, I wrote for. On a day like today, When I am diseased and all burnt, I want you to forget me as a season. We will meet again in summers, in our little ways, before Sunrise. SoUmY@