Poem inspired by this one quote- “Don’t f*ck with writers. We’ll describe you.”

 

Silence, Noise

Comfort, Restlessness

Colourful, colourless

Hurt, love

Pain, pleasure

Beauty, scar

Witty, dumb

Truth, folly

Dichotomies.

Dichotomies are a part of our system

They’re the driving force of what we call the poet’s wisdom.

 

Solitude

Sitting along the river side,

With pin drop silence around me,

I hear the splashing sound of water hitting the rocks

Similar to how thoughts seem to be hitting me.

I hear birds in the bright blue sky

Little birds, learning to speak

Speaking slowly, rather, but speaking.

Similar to how my voice feels at the moment

Solitude is where I find myself

Its my time,

when I am by myself

Where I am all for myself

And this is when I write

Write poetry.

Solitude is also a time

Where I begin to untangle myself

And somewhere in the process

Self discovery becomes alienation

I slip into this different world

Where I’m meeting people

Travelling cities

Making memories

This world is not where I belong

But its one that I create

Its my world of poetry

Solitude thus,

Is every poet’s home

And adventure.

 

Love.

Love, I say

It drives,

It pulls,

It stops,

It wounds

Whatever it does

It makes a poet

It took me away from this 19 year old

Inexperienced immature girl

And makes me this

Philosophical being

This being who takes of love as life

Who talks of love as flowers, sky, sun, moon and what not

We try to fit the emotion of love into words

Its an emotion so huge

So magnanimous

That we interpret and spill about it

All the time

And yet, every time we do

We have something new to say

Love is a poet’s home and adventure

 

Metaphors.

In a world of roleplays,

Metaphorplays is what turns us on.

Forever contemplating,

Digging deeper

Reading between the lines

We see things for what they are,

We see things a little more than others do

Stars aren’t stars for us, they’re infinities we look into

Sand isn’t sand for us, it’s time that’s slipping out

Smoke isn’t smoke for us, it’s someone’s repressed self finding air

Everything is a metaphor,

You, me, this poem

It’s all a metaphor

Metaphor thus,

Is a poet’s home and adventure

 

I’ve been to places I can’t tell you about

I’ve been to places and not known how to come back

I’ve been to places that I’ve loved and hated

I’ve found places in people and emotions

And that my friend,

Is a poet’s home and adventure.

Welcome!

 

When you ask me about

Who I am

I’ll probably give you a twisty

Politically and socially incorrect answer

I’ll probably give you a two meaning answer

Contradictory and conflicting

I like a cozy cold coffee morning

And a crazy OCD work night.

On other days, I might sleep tight like a baby

And rise early to work

I could be anything and everything

For when you pick up poetry

When you write poetry

Metamorphosis happens

You change

You become your poetry: A poet’s poetry.