Poetry is not my forte and has never been so. I do not have patience to go through the never-ending lines of a poem or the lyrics of a song. I was happy and comfortable writing the interpretations of poems in my school & college days. Poetry is for people who are more intellectual in thinking compared to ordinary mortals. I scoffed at the reasoning that poems bring out a range of emotions and that a poet reaches to the masses through his creative words. Then, why is my mind itching to pen a few lines? How is it going to look like? Will it be called a poem?
Something is brewing inside,
Its been for a while now,
Oh, I can no longer keep it aside,
It is going to come out, but how?
My mind brims with myriad emotions,
Which is the build-up of days, months & years,
Those eyes of mine keep searching for the lost dots,
The dots of my childhood never fully connected,
The school & college days which I do not want to revisit,
The pain I feel inside at the sight of children around.
The search that is going on for some years,
What is that for, my child?
What are those pangs for, my dear?
What, which, why, how,
Had I answers for these,
Would these lines have come out?
Well into the adulthood but,
Never wanting to leave that part of past,
Clinging to me and not allowing me
to become a person I want to be,
Still groping in the dark all days and nights,
Will I see the light I want to?
I travel this path, that path,
I am either here or there,
But neither here nor there,
I am everywhere, but nowhere,
I have everybody, but nobody,
Will I see the path I want to?
Dear readers, can you suggest a title for this so-called poem?