if you have read my profile, it says that i’m a poet out of india. and because i write in english, i might be an IWE. an IWE is ‘Indian Writing in English’.
labels are beside the point. what is important (to me) is that i write.
but why poetry? why not fiction? or why write at all?
i do not have answers to these questions. i write because i write. i started writing poetry very recently. when i say very recently, it’s actually going back some eighteen months.
anyway, i wrote poetry. and some people read it over. no, not friends, family, professors.
strangers.
i wrote that poem in a workshop. they said it was good. so, i revised the poem some. and then some more.
and before i knew it, i was on my way to becoming a poet. i’ve had a few successes. i’ve been published.
but i don’t feel anything. i simply write and don’t feel anything. the words come out well, i check it for rhythm and all that jazz but, i feel nothing.
nothing.
anyway, i write poetry. but what sort of poetry do i like? here is a poem by Meg E. Beade that i find very intriguing:
| In a Cathedral |
He is like a mouse
come from a hole in the wall
into a room so large he stops
abruptly. Giant walls. Distant ceiling. Light
swirling colors through glass. That he moves
forward is only from
hunger. The smallest
crumb would be enough.
He takes himself, empty,
towards the feast.
i like this poem. it makes me think. it makes me feel small, like that mouse. it reminds me that i’m so small in this world, that i’m just a mouse come out from some wall. i am yet to find my cheese.
and i hope nobody moves my cheese.
