To “fucking” poetry, with love!

Am I writing this because today is the world poetry day? I don’t think so. May be, I’m writing this because the world poetry day is an excuse that I may use to write something which you really “hate”. Yes, that’s what I have observed. It’s not that people don’t love poetry; they literally hate it. Why? You should know that. Didn’t you watch my film ‘Hoyto Kobitar Jonyo (In Poetic Hues)’? Ooops!! Another bad expectation. It’s fine if you haven’t. It may not be worth your time and attention.

Well, this is an age of smartness, a time of lazy “modernity”. People won’t think. Why should they? If they have a smart gadget in their pockets, they may well afford to stay dumb. After all, we have one life. Why should we waste it on thinking? Why should we stress ourselves?? Chill guys!! Just chill! Those are but fucking fools who bother about those fucking shits called poetry. What the fuck do they write? What the fuck do they cultivate? All crap! Let’s party babe! Shake your hips! Yaa .. yaa !!

The hatred comes from this “fucking” attitude of a “fucking” modern mindset. Poetry is an expression of your inner self. It calls for serious thinking. It calls for scholastic introspection. But where is the time? Today, everyone around us are running. They are running hard, though they don’t know what they’re running after. But that’s Ok. They must be running after “materials” that attract the materialistic. There’s nothing wrong about it. It’s a matter of choice.

But who the “fuck” am I to talk about this? I wonder myself. It’s true. I’m no one. Neither a voice, nor an authority. Neither a necessity, nor an ability. Then why do I scribble? I scribble because I’m “fucking” disgusted with this “fucking” indifference shown to the “fucking” understanding of our “fucking” cosmic self.

Poetry is no garnishment. Poetry is no pretention. Poetry is the soul of you. Poetry is the soul of me. It doesn’t matter to a poet if we neglect his/her poetry. Poets are not fools. They know they’ll suffer in this material world. They know they’ll suffer in an age of intellectual suffocation. But it’s a conscious choice, because they believe in you, they believe in me, they believe in us and our expressions, our desires and our dreams.

My first exposure to poetry happened through my syllabus. I must admit, I was equally pissed off as you. But when I ventured beyond the syllabus and looked into the vast omnibus, I could see the light of poetry, I could feel the charm and seduction of a mesmerizing poetic fantasy. No one can explain you what poetry means to someone who is addicted to it. Only the addicted ones will know. But of course, as a very naïve supporter of poetic spirit, I can guarantee you that poetry can change one’s life.

Poetry can change one’s way of looking at life, one’s way of looking at the world and beyond. It opens up the unknown. It destroys the arrogance of ‘material’ possession and places your humble self under the vast stretch of an endless universe. You may lose yourself beneath the blues, or above the greens. Poetry gives you “nothing”. Neither time nor money. Neither a job, nor a bread. Neither a house, nor a car. It just gives you an enriched yourself. But isn’t that precious too? Well, it’s again up to you to decide. I’ll rather end with a few lines of my poem …

If you have never drowned in yourself, you’ll never know what poetry is.

If you have never been burnt in your own fire, you’ll never feel what poetry gives.

If you have never been lost in your own darkness, you’ll never know what poetry sees.

If you have never been buried in your own desires, you’ll never know where poetry lives.