Poetry. Sometimes, I forget the power that the beguile word – that charming devil – unbetrays. I forget, I forget just the miles that sleep beneath the ocean. Oh I know alright, that unheard whispers uttered to the soul stir somewhere within those silent songs. But you know the trenches beneath the ocean too – does it blow your mind each time?
Have you ever wondered what hides behind a veil? We all have. But have you wondered at the veil? It skips my eye. The intricate traceries entangling, the warp and the weft of tireless spinning, a vision that had once taken flame in a mind – long before the fabric gave it a form. But a fabric is all that remains. That’s poetry – fabric – a thin veil engulfed by yellowing pages; a hushed silence. But someday, when the noises become unbearable, you’ll know, oh, the value of silence.
Maybe those feeble demons mean to guard their treasure after all, with a face of empty unoffering. So that, it’s unopened charms don’t lose their enchantments in the open atmosphere of immune blindness. The Goddess of poetry, she shied from the light, in the light of the dishonor faced by her fellows. Like, say, life, or hope, in the eyes of those grown too immune to their brightness – like broken toys from a child’s younger days. A cliche, to say it simply. Oh, and cliche too! What a cliche… a beautiful word indeed. A word that could open the door to a new world of old, forgotten things; a word that could blow your mind with the secret that gold still lies beneath the dust and yet, instead of undusting old treasures, this word itself is buried in the dust of unmeaning. A pity. No wonder, poetry tried to stay its charms in plaintive uninviting smiles. For if the world where to see, it wouldn’t see – beauty that beams isn’t beauty.
But a time will come when you will be invited, by chance, by fate to this unseen kingdom. Someday, when the world of seen things and known dreams begin to fade and choke and crash and collide – from amidst the smoke and ashes, a hymn will arise. A hymn from a gone heart that has so long watched in silence, for a time when it would be called to sew back your heart. And then you will know the bond in those lost words, those verses that will know your heart when all the world deserts.
It is for people who find their ways like that; who wander not by chance but by penance to this world. To them, these poems rebuild a broken world and remake a crumbled identity. A universe of truth, and truth alone, from unveiled hearts that have trusted their woes and dreams to you and asked you to trust them with yours. A world, waiting just for you, by those who needn’t be scared to express anymore. A world where there is only love and a desire to help one another with strength, support, and unity.
Oh, the day you find the doors of this world open for you, the other world doesn’t matter. Not the lack of joy in its folds, nor the dearth of affection from its folks. And then, all the pain is bearable, for beautiful goblets of poems nestle in your heart, waiting to hold those unshed tears so that they may not drench your poor heart. All the worlds could tumble down, yet you will blossom unhurt with beauty and love, for, the strength of a universe sleeps inside you. And that universe can never be stolen away. At that point, you will look back with a light heart at the trail of woes and tears that had walked you so far, and utter with a sigh “Poetry. How did I forget the power that this beguile word unbetrays?”
A day will come. And like me, you will sigh these thoughts too. But until then, it is, after all, just poetry.
Dedicated to the numerous support I found in poetry. Every time my world seemed grey you painted it back in hues. Every time life ebbed away, you pick up the scattered hopes and recreate me- with hope, with courage, with dreams. Every time. A treasure that can never be taken away.
And to the poets who are my unseen friends.