PadmaShree, Sri Jayanta Mahapatra once said,"There is something in me that refuses to die. It’s there, somewhere deep inside me perhaps. And this is poetry."
The genesis of POETICbug was thus an act of unleashing the curbed thoughts in the form of poems. POETICbug,says, "I praise; I dare; I invoke care; You write, recite my glory; I am, Poetry."
-Taking forward the spirit of poetry !
What’s divine?
A conscious belief or
Forced tradition,
May be an eternal argument,
Of HIS existence and beyond,
I know not of the power,
Because I'm touched by the love,
Not in exchange; in exchange of,
Incense sticks, prayers;
Candles, promises;
Or fasts and flowers;
Rather unconditional.
I speak of THEE, to THEE,
like a friendly bond,
Sharing and accusing,
The little nothings and everything,
From finding my lost eraser
to guiding me in my lost path.
And when I see around me,
A world so strangely beautiful,
in its differences and union,
I believe there’s an unknown artist,
Busy in HIS timeless design.
This poem is published in an anthology, HEAVENLY HYMNS by PoiesisOnline.
A bite into its juicy fibrous body,
Your taste buds are excited,
with the strike of sweetness, so royal.
Your nonchalant pleasure,
Trickles down from the corner of your mouth,
Sweltering heat, no time to bother.
The aroma itself is enchanting,
Draws you cunningly towards itself,
No matter what resistance comes.
Until each strand of its flesh,
Has consumed your appetite,
And soaked your soul with satisfaction,
It continues to embrace you with its regal delight.
Early morning when sleep is still comfortable on your bed,
She comes down with her armour and shield,
A broom in her hand and a basket to collect the dried leaves,
Smoothly, she sweeps the road and side-walk too,
All this, for a petty pay and some food. You get up in your lazy mood,
Call her for that extra work,
And when she is done and dusted through,
You wait her up for tea and rusk.
You search through your kitchen,
In the dark corner behind the cupboard, with one hand in, you find something.
The half-broken china clay cup from last year,
In which you now, pour her the hot tea,
You give her as if it is special,
And she soothes herself well,
For she is promoted now, from the rusted tin can to the china clay cup.
“I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night”
I so agree with this beautiful quote by Sarah Williams.
I sometimes wonder is light the solution for darkness or just the absence of darkness? If that was the case then we would not fear when there is light. But we do. And if light was a solution to darkness, the Creator would have never brought night so beautifully after the day. There is excitement in the uncertainty of the darkness just like it is with life. I believe darkness gives as much hope as light does. It is important how we perceive it because there is charm in everything, even darkness.
I am always fascinated by the darkness of the night. Somehow it attracts me.I feel comfortable and relaxed. In fact I am more focused in what I do, particularly during the night time. I prefer to work at night and more often the laptop light is just enough for me. In fact while searching the net, I found this word,nyctophilia (noun) which means love of darkness or the night.
There is peace in the silence that persists. There is no one to disturb you but your thoughts. I feel all the energy that drained out in the mundane jobs of the day gets rejuvenated at night. This definitely helps me create my poetry the way I envision them. So for me ‘switching on the lights’ signifies that which helps me switch on my inner self. And in my case it is darkness.
Like always my closing paragraph is a poem.
I wait for the nocturnal darkness,
The silence and the calm,
To the rhythm of heavy breathing,
When every sound becomes distinct,
Like each of them is free,
Standing out from one another,
No more fading into the noise.
I wait for the nocturnal darkness,
That clears my mind,
When the neurons summon thoughts,
To weave them together
into the vision I perceive.
In this low decibel around
when I can hear myself out,
I talk about the dreams
that otherwise sleep would steal.
I wait for the nocturnal darkness,
For such relief I feel,
To be what I am,
Blooming like the jasmine.
Unperturbed by none's presence,
It spreads its sweet fragrance.
I wait for the nocturnal darkness,
For the thousand stars to arrive,
Giving me hope to shine like them, bright.
That which light brings to many,
Is hidden for me in the night,
And when I switch on my lights,
I get that darkness enough,
enough to know myself right.
