Why I Write Poem by BASAB CHAUDHURI

You ask me why I write.
Listen: for myself.

It is unwinding—
a spring loosening,
tension easing into air.

To shape sentences from words,
meaning or no meaning—
this is a kind of love
you may never know.

Words toward beauty,
toward form,
toward structure,
toward travel—
through space
and beyond.

A poem?
Did I ever claim it?

I live in a world
made of words:
river,
ocean,
sky,
deep woods,
birds,
tigers,
eyes,
ideas.

You ask me why I write.

Pleasure.
Simple pleasure.