Nascent avowal of love from my first
classroom muse,
Filled me with poetic muse
That stirred to verse
On the sly.
A secret bard in a world of her own...
Penning emotions...
When feeling out of her'self'.
Covert Confessions of raw sentiments to a private journal,
The dawn of a poet begins.
Thinking deep into the night,
For a creation to inspire,
For the mandatory submission,
To college magazine,
Sleep invaded me
A dream surreal began to gleam--
And from its glow, was born "My Dream".
A College love wrapped in stillness,
Whose feelings bloomed in silence,
Though no words passed,
Love echoed loud.
Though all sensed the bond we never
named,
Stirred my soul to pen
My debut novel and a verse in Kannada,
And a handful of few more verses.
Dr Prashant's grant of freedom
To pen a poem or tale creatively wrought,
Instead of tour report,
Ignited the lethargic muse inside me to pen
"Preface to Hyderabad".
My kindred soul's sweetheart's eerie unveiling,
Gave birth to Sartarica,
And from this breath begins Dipsao's Crazy World.
My Soul's Sorrow-tinted hours
Yearning for the divine
I wove a handful of sacred verses.
Dr AK's wooing of me
Yielded tender verses
And a cloistered novella.
My Ashlin, my former beloved,
A great singer he is,
Breathe through his voice,
Turning my posthumous verse
to melody.
Verse bloomed in the spaces--
Between our digital world--
Never etched in ink--
As tempers flared occasionally.
Out of the heartbreak,
Tears became the ink,
Sorrow the script,
There begins a fiction--still in fragments.
Though it's name whispered my mind,
Its cover drawn by heart.
Every wave of pain, fury, hopelessness... I pen
Out of the blue...
Drifting with the flow...
A shocking revelation of
A dear friend's betrayal
At the workplace...
A marvel my heart dares not grasp.
Ceaseless refrains my colleagues echoed time and again,
My head scorched with burning heat.
So sprang forth "Beneath the Guise".
Doldrums stirred the memories of my bygone heart.
Fond echoes of the time-worn treasures
I poured into poetry
And found comfort.
With every hurt ache,
I pen...
As defiance, as solace, as catharsis.
My Colleague Shaheel's
Word on the matter of admission
In the official group
Stirred my unease
Of the uncertain future of our department.
And so born "Last Class...?"
Parting ways...
In the hush of night
My mind wandered,
Reflection and affection--
Missing my passout students,
A quiet longing,
a flame rekindled
"Four Warriors in English"
And "Etched in My Heart".
Am I a voice wrapped in rhythm?
I don't know.
Do others see the poet hidden in my words?
The power is theirs to weild.
The muse hides when I am told to compose.
The contest can't summon my silent song...
It spills from my heart at times of deep emotion...
And that's what Wordsworth whispered: poetry is...
Come what may, I will write on...
To soothe my soul, to cradle my thoughts in calm.
A poem written by Sai Varenya.
25/06/2025
No comments:
Post a Comment