I write poetry when I am sad, mad or bad. Wonder why rhyme eludes me in happy moments. Like probably I would never see a field of daffodils the way Wordsworth did, or a brook like Tennyson danced along with. I can only see the blood and gore of war, the heartbreak in love, a hundred years of solitude and the unbearable lightness of being.
What do I enjoy so much that I could write about. Write a song on the wonderful world like someone in Discovery Channel did. (Watch it on YouTube, "The world is just amesome"... luurve it totally) An ode to the love I can see in certain pair of eyes. A sonnet on my lovely workplace. In the least a limerick on shopping till my bank account goes bust... even a haiku on window shopping.
You know like...
Wonderlands glimpsed through
Lighted windows
A million things to own
If only pocket would permit!
Yuck!
My next poem will be a happy one. Promise.
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Smelling Oranges on Winter Afternoons- Payal Mukherjee
2 comments:
Poetry just seems to happen at the unlikliest of places. it is the song of our cracked heart. Loved your poem titled Ordinary Poem and have featured it on the poetry section of my blog.
i can relate...i kind of find it difficult to write poems when i am really happy and v strangely the flow improves drastically when the mood is sad..
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