No wonder if someone complains that you don’t understand poetry. We are now living in an era where poetry is hard to understand but poetry carries feelings and people now feel without realizing it.
They are now standing before the ocean of things without knowing what is at the shore waiting for them. They are busy with ocean. They are hungry for luxury goods and not ready to pay attention to the delicacy of an emotion.
People have forgotten the language that carries emotions, that carries feelings of a simple day, that holds the simplicity of life. Life now starts with lights switched on and ends with lights switched off and between this nothing meaningful happens.
There is no beauty in a rain, in winter chill and in the summer sweat. They have trained their eyes to avoid all of these and think only some silly business of life where they find nothing at the end. Their life is actually missing poetry, simplicity of a day.
A simple day is one where two friends talk with their open heart, where two strangers meet and become friends, where children create noise and old people show anger, where couple tiffs over a cup of coffee, where day begins with a promise that it will unfold many new secrets.
There is a need to learn the unwritten message of our day and learn how one day passes by and another continues. Language of change is continuously singing around us and telling us about its presence.
Poetry is not an arrangement of words with rules of grammar, rhymes and rigid forms rather it is an agreement between moments with whom you have words in such a manner that connects you with your emotions.
Poetry is seeing how you like to describe your seeing. It is selecting the goodness in bad. It is seeing the hope in despair. It is in the innocent way of holding fingers of your parent, of a guardian angel who is guiding you to walk towards your unknown future. It is in seeing the fact which is dark like a dark closed room where it is hard to see yourself but easy to feel your presence.
Your presence is the magic. Your witnessing everything around you through the one point that matters the most – through the poetry of your life. Your impulse and throbbing is the sign that you live and you can say how beautiful you feel being alive.
We have made ourselves ghost before our final retiring into the coffin. We have stop feeling. seeing and speaking about our heart. We are designing ourselves in hate for poetry without realizing it is part of our heart.
Poetry is like a hope in the lounge of a green grass that wind is making dance. The finest blade of grass seems stronger than a steel sword and beautiful enough to traverse deep into the memories.
Life is just an unwritten poetry like any unsolved equation – you don’t need to think a lot rather scribe it with all your heart.