I started writing poetry before I wrote it down. They were songs without music that I’d made up and they were relevant to me. I didn’t know it was poetry until school gave it a name.
My writing began with poetry – but you woudn’t know it here.
In hindsight, I see now that poetry was the coping mechanism of my youth. It helped me process heartache and conflicts within myself and sometimes within the world. As I began to feel more conrol over my life, poetry writing dwindled.
I don’t write poetry much
A lapse in concentration
Ideas struggle to be polished.
Come like the rain and never go.
And I fear –
Go the like the rain and never come.
I was nineteen. Beside this poem in my scrap book, I wrote ‘Is this even a poem? I don’t even know what it means.’ I wrote two poems after it and nothing since. Well, nothing finished.
Eventually I realised, I was perhaps mourning the loss of something I no longer needed. However, some of my favourite poems I wrote in those last few years. Like this one.
The empty inside a jar,
To a rhetorical question,
Of silence in a vacant room,
At the entrance of a tunnel.
The hue opposing white,
On a blank face,
Between two things identical,
That nothing is.
Day 23 of Nano Poblano! That is, Ra’s version of NaBloPoMo.
We’re posting everyday in the month of November!
When I say ‘we’ I mean these awesome folk.