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Autobiograhy Of A Poet

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Chapter: 1

I was nourished in a family where education was adored as a holy thing. My mother taught me how to show honour to a book, even to a detached page of a book, what kind of book it was, was not the matter. All kinds of books were holy books to us because no mean type of book or unbecoming book had any chance to reach our home in that beautiful calm sweet-breathing village. Francis Bacon said that people are of three types: those who are very simple, admire the books; the cunning, condemn them; the wise, use them. We were not wise people at all; but we were the true admirers of books. Many a day I have seen my mother offering alms to the beggars, especially rice collected from our own fields, if ever any book happened to fall down from our hands. Not only that, instantly we picked up the book from the ground and kissed its cover-page again and again. Still now I do it when the same thing happens to any book I hold. Modern men may consider it superstition; but this superstition helped me become a lover of books.

All the words written in a book I found near my hand during my childhood days were like the tasty foods. I devoured them all with a great appetite. Whatever the fuel is, if it comes ever to a fire, it gets burnt because the nature of fire is that it spares none. It is cruel; but through this cruelty, light is born to charm the eyes of the onlookers. My father collected books for me, carried them at home and my mother made me learn how to deal with them with fear and honour.

Throughout my whole life, I was nothing but a poet. I was born as a poet because a poet can never be made, he is born. And a poet means nothing but a fire. But I was then the hidden fire within the wood. One day I was suddenly kindled while reading an essay on our great Bengali poet Rabindranath Tagore. I was then only 11. But a fire need not have any age. Fire is ferocious at any age; it looks for an opportunity to be kindled, and if once kindled, it starts burning everything it gets nearby. Going through the essay, when I came to know that Rabindranath started writing poems at his 8, I became frustrated, envious and furious for being so late to start. Three years had already passed leaving me far behind. I became shocked as if I had been in a race to compete with Rabindranath. However, getting furious, I started running and that race of mine is still going on. This way I was kindled and thus I have been burning incessantly since that day of my 11th year.

Chapter: 2

Every incident of life in the past seems to be dramatic and miraculous now. How I dared to compete with a gigantic poet like Rabindranath at that very stage of my primary school-life is still a wonder to me. I have mused over it many a time to find out the reasons. Two reasons might cause against such an ambition: one is, discovering Rabindranath's first composition of poem at the age of eight; second, an intolerable communal cnmment of a senior Hindu student of my high school on my nation. It accidently happened one day in my school while we, almost all the boys of all classes, were playing or gossiping in the playground during our leisure period. In those days, girls were not allowed to play or gossip with us; they passed their time by playing or gossiping in their large common room. However, a handful students of several classes including me were discussing on various topics on that day.
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Autobiograhy Of A Poet
Tuesday, April 17, 2018
Topic(s) of this poem: autobiography
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
My Life
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Me Poet Yeps Poet 27 May 2018

You O young Poet born only in 1972 have had the nerve to become outstanding I have been since 6 decades strggling composed over 13000 plus poems but very few stand out O GREAT POET of nerve and wisdom WILL is all pervading do read my two poems moms' smiles and mother's day today do translate in Bengali if you may Hindi versions have been mad and let me know if I have the genes of a poet like you or would you ask me to abandon composing poetry would you

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Sayeed Abubakar 28 May 2018

Thank you, dear poet, for your comment on me. Surely I will read your poems and comment on them.

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