The Poetic Period

So, I’ve entered a poetry, verse, or at the most base level, a rhyme phase in my blogging. Will it last? If so, how long? I’m not going to sit and ponder over that, especially as, going by Buddhism (which I follow to a fair extent), nothing is permanent. This post then is about the why – why or how presently, in my writing, I am seeing ‘rhyme and meter / in every centimetre’.

In the morn / Poetry is born

I wake up very early, before the sun wakes up. I do so for my pre-walk warm-up, physiotherapy exercises, and finally meditation (which I’ve been practising for some time now). After my freshening-up, I go stand in my balcony for a few minutes. And am immediately taken in by the lyricality of the morning. The first ray opening its eye; the stars preparing to hit the cosmic bed; the cool, whispery breeze taking one last lap across the trees; the birds, stirred by the breeze, letting out a literal relay of sounds… How can anyone not be inspired by this? (So, I guess, if I were a late-night person, all my poems would be about owls and howls.)

Theatre of the word

Poetry is perhaps the ultimate play of thoughts and words. With prose, you’re “only” trying to get your idea down in the most magical string of sequential words. With poetry, you’re stirring the word soup in your cerebral cortex, and your emotional vortex. First, the idea’s in place, but not the words. Then, the words stack up, but the idea is missing. You’re playing a semantic and ideatic Rubik’s cube before things finally go ‘click’. All sides are now colour-coordinated. The six lines on the computer now match the lilting idea in your head and heart.

Animaly, Anomaly

On the sombre side, and almost every writer will say this at some point in time, writing is very cathartic. If so, poetry is the semantic salve. Much of my writing is about my high passions of animal love/freedom (and therefore, veganism), and to some extent, about spirituality. When I’m unable to do something for some animal in human-caused distress, or about some society-nurtured anomaly, I take to putting it down. With also the hope that it echoes with and inspires someone else, somewhere else too.

Jingle bells

And on a lighter note, if nothing else, penning poetry can always help me write ad jingles.

So, now, off I go / To pen some mo’.

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