experiencing my self

There is a me who lives with me
A very loyal companion
Very kind and often quiet
This me I can depend on

to always be with me however
I may feel, I may behave
It will quietly sit with me
No matter what is going on

It will never separate from me
This is totally for sure
The very nature of this me
is such – this I can bet on

It was with me in Mumma’s womb
It saw me come into this world
It sat beside as I was locked
In infant coma that had come on

As I grew up and spent those hours
Drinking the joy of sunset skies
Along with me atop the roof
This me too daily marveled on

Teenage years and growing fears
This path or that, the choices made
This me it walked with me whichever
path I chose to walk on

Illness and the angst of love
Bitter feelings in the heart
Through it all I did not know
This me was my companion

No I have not split in two
To talk of a me inside of me
I have become aware of this
kind presence I can rely on

~ vani murarka

Can A Poem Be Lonely?

A poem can be about loneliness but can a poem be lonely?

Yes. A poem is lonely if it is not read. A poem is lonely if it is not acknowledged. A poem is lonely if it wants to be read but does not give of itself to be read.

Poems are often introverts. To ask, ‘did you like my poem?’ is to do disservice to the introvert poem.
For a poem to hold itself back, to not give itself to the world, to its intended reader is to do disservice to the world, to its reader.

But poems born of vulnerability tend to be scared. Poems are often born from a center of vulnerability.

Poems are concentrated emotion, raw yet refined. For an emotion to not be received, having given itself, is an emotion’s biggest dread.

But the emotion needs to acquire wisdom too. The recipient may not have the bandwidth and tuning to receive. At such times, the emotion must patiently wait without letting it’s tenderness shrivel up.

Whatever the emotion, when held with tender love, is a poem. Anger, when held in the palms of tender love, is also anger but also becomes a poem.

For love is beauty. And whatever the ras, a poem has to be beautiful. A poem of vibhats ras must also be beautiful, while remaining vibhats. Without intrinsic beauty, a poem is a malformed poem. A poem expressing bitterness, to be a poem, must be beautiful, refined in its expression of bitterness.

This does not mean that to be refined a poem should be oblique and aristocratic in form and language. No. But a poem needs to carry self respect without indignation. A poem can be direct, simple, matter of fact, in the true language of the poet (not a pretentious acquired language) – but standing with self-respect the poem will be refined.

And that is how it should be presented to the world. Not in a snobbish manner. Not in a grovelling manner beseeching acknowledgement. Just matter of fact self-respect. This is me. Then if the poem is acknowledged or not, does not matter, for the poem would have acknowledged itself.

Born for One Reason

Often when I encounter you
It seems to me that I was born
For one reason – to love you …

Often when I encounter you
It seems to me that I was born
For one reason – to love you

So many twists and turns
Have occurred between us two
Even then love continues

You talk to me, for this reason.
This is why I talk to you.
Withdrawn though as we are
Into shells of hurt, we two.

I was born,
for one reason –
To love you

As I detect the universe
in my heart, in its dust
I find you

I was born,
for one reason –
To love you

I speak my mind and my heart
In a poem I don’t send to you
So you’re not inconvenienced
By a tug that pulls at you

I was born,
for one reason –
To love you.