“Poetry is the past
that breaks out in our hearts.”
May that past be broken,
that once happened
and keeps happening
afterwards
sometimes in mind,
sometimes in heart,
but keeps happening
until revoked
by hunger or with divinity.
It neither bends to the cycle of day
and night, nor pays heed to the call of
the Universe.
It brings with itself rain,
clouds, darkness, pain, and
poetry.
Yet, there is an escape to all this.
A divine escape. Available to those
open to grace.
Tagore knew about this.
Rumi sang it everyday
It is still here. Poetry does not
always have to break you. And
Past does not always have to
hurt you.
Things are different. If, you want
them to be.
References:
https://pixabay.com/photos/fog-woman-meadow-flowers-tender-3050078/
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/50706476-dearly
