I am joining the party a bit late -- but better late than never! April is the national poetry month in the US. Keeping with the tradition of "a poem in your pocket" that goes with this month, I am going to observe a blog version by posting a poem every day on this blog starting today. I am not going to restrict myself to American poets, or only to English language, though. This is because I got introduced to most of the poetic works that have influenced me during my adolescent years in India, when I was picking up, touching and wondering about almost every work I came across in the world of poetry, much like a wide eyed toddler in a toy shop.
I am starting with sharing one of the favorites from my own recent writings I have posted on this blog earlier. This is a homage to those poets whose works have engaged, regaled and inspired me so deeply through the years, enough for me to have the audacity to attempt this myself.
Walking through this street
The memories elude me
I must have been here some time
Not sure when exactly...
Place to laugh with friends
And many words to say
I don't hear well like before
Silence drowns the chatter away...
Gone are the milky swirls in my coffee
And the little joint where I used to eat
Everything is better and new
Bit too strong, a bit too neat...
New retreats and new ways
Come forth and greet the known
Not the strange stranger
A wanderer on her own...
The day is almost over
I am tired and lost
A kind passerby tells me to find a bus
Pointing towards a new glass box...
Sitting here and closing my eyes
around a dirty brown recess of my mind
I find the street I was looking for
All over, and where I find...
The box empties and fills with voices
On the old street I now stand alone
Let me wander here a bit longer today
Let me never go back home...
I am starting with sharing one of the favorites from my own recent writings I have posted on this blog earlier. This is a homage to those poets whose works have engaged, regaled and inspired me so deeply through the years, enough for me to have the audacity to attempt this myself.
Nostalgia lost
by A. K.
The memories elude me
I must have been here some time
Not sure when exactly...
Place to laugh with friends
And many words to say
I don't hear well like before
Silence drowns the chatter away...
Gone are the milky swirls in my coffee
And the little joint where I used to eat
Everything is better and new
Bit too strong, a bit too neat...
New retreats and new ways
Come forth and greet the known
Not the strange stranger
A wanderer on her own...
The day is almost over
I am tired and lost
A kind passerby tells me to find a bus
Pointing towards a new glass box...
Sitting here and closing my eyes
around a dirty brown recess of my mind
I find the street I was looking for
All over, and where I find...
The box empties and fills with voices
On the old street I now stand alone
Let me wander here a bit longer today
Let me never go back home...
National Poetry Month is the biggest scholarly festival on the planet, with a huge number of perusers, understudies, K-12 instructors, custodians, book retailers, artistic occasions caretakers, distributers, bloggers, and, obviously, artists denoting verse's essential spot in our way of life and our lives each April.
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