I found poetry when I was a kid. Or, rather, poetry found me.
It was always there, in my home, tucked away in the multitude of poetry books owned by my dad. He taught English literature. Little surprise that I took a fancy to writing poems too -- incoherent verses written here and there on scraps of paper that often went missing after a few days as mum swept through my room.
Finally, years later, I have taken my very own "giant leap" as I share with the world, my first very first book, Tamed Words, a collection of 36 poems. Each poem captures a piece of me, which is what I suppose is the very purpose of poetry. The book is a culmination of a dream that was stitched over a long time as I grew up, and which, at times, seemed improbable. For me it signifies the triumph of a "below par" schoolboy who always wrestled with doubt and wondered if he was good enough at anything. Getting this volume of poetry out bolstered my self-belief and gave me faith that I too could carve a little corner for myself in a wide wide world.
The process of writing, of course, wasn't always easy. The verse below sums up the emotional turmoil of a writer as he sits through an unfriendly winter's night.
The night prowls on him.
Darkens the chasms,
on his forehead, and,
in his veins, alike.
Savage, wintery silences,
whistle through the gorges in him.
Infested with voids, and,
haunted by the night,
he, the clueless writer, crumbles.
Bit by bit.
Then in the verse below I tackle a different kind of turmoil. I dare to imagine what war would really feel like, right at the coal face, in a claustrophobic trench.
Then, the night fell silent.
Just like that.
The hostile trenches, too,
turned into hospitable graves.
As they all lay there in peace.
Next to one another.
No longer foes.
called them by the same name,
Last but not least, if you choose to buy a copy of Tamed Words, please feel free to give your feedback. I would greatly appreciate an honest appraisal of my first lot of work!