Poetry – Are you mad?

Someone asked me – Why do people write poems? Why do we need poems? I do not read any? I read lots of novels. I listen to music, songs, hip hop, rock, even rap. But never a poem. The last time I read one was during my early school days when I was taught a few.

I told him – Sane enough. Poetry is never meant to be read in any case. It is written as a means of expressing one’s own deep feelings of love, of hatred, of victory, of failure, of elation, of depression, of betrayal, of fear. Ask me what not! Poetry is a private affair. It’s a love between the creator and the medium of recording. They make love and out of that wedlock emerges a creation. For some it is music, for some prose, for a few others poetry. They remain sometimes as timeless pebbles underneath the ocean, sometimes discovered and shone light, to bloom and on its flowers the bees sit, sing and get drunk, carry a few pollen along with them spreading the song, new plants are sown and new flowers are born, by when the one which bloomed first might have wilted and gone, the fragrance still lingers on the stone, only to be washed away by an angry river, later picked up again by a curious kid in another land, in another era, to be felt, smelt and reborn. Its …

I was interrupted – You are mad!

I said – I guess I am. Wait, I had not finished yet…

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