BIRTH OF A POEM, by Samita CHATTOPADHYAY (Bengal, India).

Dawn;

They strut

And strum on his body,

As if he is a guitar;

Do they call his name ?

Are they asking him to write?

It makes a scrap of difference though;

He calls the shots;

He will decide what to do;

Now he understands that they are squabbling;

He gets up;

There they are --

WORDS;

They ask him to get up

And start writing a poem;

“Come on… write…

What is in a poem ?

It is so easy!

We are here;

Create…”

“If it is so easy

Why can’t you arrange yourself and

Be a poem ?”

“We come and go;

We need a conductor

To please a thirsty ear;

Stitch us and give us life…”

The poet heaves a sigh;

“Not that easy dear ones…

Poem calls for a topic…”

“Don’t you love ?”

“I am a private person.

My partner knows how much I love;

But why should I open up in my poem ?

Besides I am not cut out for sweet talks;

I am wilder than a peach orchard boar…

You come forward…”

They dance

And sing

And smile n’ roar…

He says, “We all need furore…

People are showing furor;

Poems should rant on the wrongdoers…”

“Why do you want to put your oar in ?”

“Spread the word….

A poet is supposed to do that…”

Wisp…they fly away…

They are like butterflies…

Why do they flit in and out of his life ?

He sings the blues….

Suddenly they appear and say,

“Jump in feet first –

There is no going back…”

What to do ?

He doesn’t have the foggiest idea…

Words are like bubbles;

Alluring colors of rainbow;

They are driving him crazy…

Eyes become dreamy;

He swings into action…

Grabs a scrappy bit of paper;

Holds the pen tight;

Tries to garner all the words…

Muster them;

Clip their wings;

Bind them;

Truss;

And then

Embellish;

Prettify;

Adorn;

And set them free….

They are now emancipated

A new dawn…

Naissance of a poem’s journey…

Samita CHATTOPADHYAY