I Wish...

For most of the past one year, after Covid hit India and I was confined at home, I felt a strange urge to write poetry, even as I continued blogging and writing other prose pieces. I say "strange", because I've always been less drawn to poetry than prose, and consequently have also read far less of it. But I pine for economy now - sparse words, bare image, silence. I can't bear to read voluminous books, watch long films, or sit through elaborate discussions these days. Exhaustion may be one reason for it; the desire for a clutter-free existence, another. I want to get rid of all clutter and just concentrate on essentials. 

What you see below is not a poem, but an articulation of the desire to write poetry (among other things... all of which I have no talent for)!

I just wanted to make a short post of this desire this month...



I wish I were a poet

Condensing feelings into neat little lines

That flow spontaneously down

Like a stream.

I wish I were a painter

Unleashing the demon within

In a riot of colours

On canvas or paper.

I wish I were a dancer

Swirling in vast open spaces

In joyous delight

Sheer poetry in motion.

But prose is all I have

Bare words woven together

Into unadorned sentences

Without metre or rhyme.


Sandra Horn said…
This is a poem if ever I saw one! Beautiful!
Eden Baylee said…
Hi Rituparna,

Loved your poem. It speaks to me in a positive way. Thank you for sharing and I hope things in India are improving.

Ruth Leigh said…
What is poetry? Emotion recollected in tranquility and that's certainly what your poem is. Beautiful and heartfelt.
Peter Leyland said…
Hi Rituparna

There are some things poetry can say that can be said in no other way. Ruth's comment above on Wordsworth's statement from The Lyrical Ballads, I think, is exactly what I feel. Thanks for your poem which I'm sure speaks to many here.

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