What Is Poetry For Me, As I Take It? Poem by Bijay Kant Dubey

Sometimes I think within,
As how to define poetry,
How to take to it,
What is poetry,
How is it written,
Why do they,
What the compulsion
Forcing upon?

Poetry is written words,
I write it,
Try to catch the rhythms
Of poetry,
Going along,
Trying to find out
My things,
Always in search of
For being creative.

Poetic words do not come to
All of a sudden or suddenly,
It takes time
In to be a poet
For which inspiration is a must
Whomever derive you from,
Sensitivity comes next
Thudded by a strong sentimentalism
As for to clutch emotionally.

When full of feeling or emotional,
Passionate about or loveful,
Poetry comes to,
If it not,
The lines of verse
Line by line, word by word,
Stanza by stanza
And I designing them,
Setting out
The volcanic stuffs.

Poetry for the first time came to
As falling in love
Thereafter as the pains and pines of love,
The wounded heart bleeding
And I moving about
In search of balm,
Solace,
Comfort in resignation
And rejection,
I taking heart in confidence
And trying to make it understand.

Poetry came to as the fruits of sadhna
And I turning the energy of
Wounded heart and broken love
In devotion
To get salvation,
To get knowledge
And that is the knowledge
Of the self
And the bhakti yoga leading me
Unto Him
To enlighten upon
Otherwise.

Poetry came to me as religious mysticism,
Transcendental meditation
Transforming me,
Metaphysical and abstract,
Moulding and metamorphosing,
Poetry came to innocence and ignorance
Of a child,
Poetry came to me as the flashes
Of the Light Divine,
The Divine Philosopher smiling.

Poetry came to me as aesthetic pleasure,
The love of beauty,
Reflected in myriad ways,
The roses blooming,
Redolence coming from,
The bunches of jasmines
Spraying sweet scent,
The forest paths
Littered with wild blooms
Fallen and scattered over,
The grassy blooms tiny and dew-laden.