When I think of Poetry

 When I think of poetry, I think of an open world that opens its arms to give a warm embrace, to encourage someone to open up in a safe environment. The world of poetry is the friend who truly listens, cares, and is there during times of need. So, I write about the joys and pains that I dare not openly speak about, like the anxieties of work and family and the doubts I feel about writing even after more than a decade of doing so. At times, however, poetry is an impenetrable world hidden to an outsider who reads over and over to connect with the sentiments portrayed. It is mysterious, maybe even closed off as the poet weaves in feelings and ideas that are so personal to be understood by a broad audience. Rather than discourage, poetry gives more reason to write, if not for wide readership for yourself as a personal outlet.    

When I think of poetry, I think of the wonder of the universe and the vast ideas within it. I think of nature, the morning sun, the change of air throughout the day, the winds, and the cool moon in the night, sometimes lonely and other times surrounded by an array of beautiful stars. And what I see is the small portion that the universe allows, where people are but a small part of an enormous tale. The tender and delicate flowers brush up against strong and resistant plants that can acclimate to the harsh weather that occurs more frequently now, from scorching heat to sudden floods. But there are also drying plants, unable to light up in green, and weary animals in the national parks surrounded by golden, yet dried-up grass. As beauty and despair entwine in the universe, some people revel in all the colours while others wither as the plants. 

When I sit down to articulate how I feel, a mix of emotions takes over. I write in colour, celebrating our natural world and the ordinary yet wondrous morning sun, the simple beauty of the moon at night, the inspiration that a blooming flower produces, and the calm that a canopy of trees provides. But at the same time, I know the scorching sun affects harvests, food, and human lifelines; that the excessive rains, floods, and unprepared people mean more tragedy for humanity and the environment. So I also write in grey, in frustration, pain, and despair.

When I think of poetry I think of love, something beautiful and selfless, a commitment to the heart and to someone else. It is an inexhaustible topic, of life experience, of yearning, and of an idealized and intangible feeling restricted to the literature and films of the day. But I write about it all because I like it in all its beauty and twisted pain. 

When I think of poetry I think of experiences of the past, present, and future. Distinguishing what experience is real and what is not real, as well as the ideas of presentism, growing past, and eternalism circulate the mind. I think of existence only in the present, then the reality of a person’s inescapable past experiences, and lastly eternalism, where all the time classifications are real. However, other times I wrestle with the idea that the future may not be real as its existence is predicated on potential occurrences or future anticipations that are not fully in existence. Therefore, I write about a future that has not passed, a past that is no longer there, and the present which is the only real and ascertainable experience.  

Poetry provides the freedom in writing that I yearn for since it allows me to write about what reality is and what I wish it to be. There is both hope and despair in the human condition as well as light and dark, warmth and indifference, and so forth. Through rhymes, repetitions, metaphor, and overall structure, poetry allows a writer to arrange their thoughts beautifully and succinctly irrespective of the subject matter. If the thoughts live on, in the poet and reader, the wonder of poetry continues.

I have always longed to publish a collection of my poems and was finally able to do so late last year. For more than ten years, I submitted hundreds of poems to various publications for a chance to reach a wider audience, with some success in certain major and minor publications, but also rejection or outright silence. With time, more writing, and more confidence, The Blank Mind is finally out.    

For this first poetry collection, I took inspiration from all the contradictions of life that bring happiness and torment. The Blank Mind explores themes of anxiety and depression, disillusionment with the expected pillars of hope like family and religion, and the betrayal of politics. The collection also comments on the beauty of nature, the mundane that we take for granted and taking time to appreciate who we are. 

For all lovers of poetry and those who are new to it, take a chance to read the book currently available on Amazon. I appreciate it very much.