Poetry – A way of life

“Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words”

These lines come from a person who has had a great influence on my way of writing – Robert frost. He was the first poet I read thoroughly and admired. Then began my tryst with this most profound form of expression. For me, Poetry is a language. It is a language of the broken and the healing, of the lover and the loved, of the souls who seek eternal peace. Poetry is everywhere, in everyone’s soul.

It was very soon I began to pen down my own thoughts in the form of verses and compositions, and by the end of my high-school, I had filled an entire notebook with the magic of rhyming verses. That continues till date. Whenever an emotion passes down my mind, I pen that down. Having shared a few of my works on Social platforms like Quora and Yourquote, where I enjoy a good audience, this the first time I am sharing few of my works here. I hope, more than anything, my poetry induces an emotion in your heart, because that’s what every poet seek for.

Octave – first :

I had made our home out of clay,
It was strong, till you stayed

When you left, It began to collapse
Particles fell faster than my feelings perhaps

Now all I have is dust, everywhere around,
Shattered pieces piled up on the ground

I know, I can make one again, this time small,
But who will be there, to not let it fall?

Mononet – Second :

We both were like flowers,
Blooming together in same garden

Her fragrance was a delight,
I lacked aroma and sight

My body of spurs and thorns,
She symbolised a princess born

Her beauty defined in petals pinkish-white,
Mine lied in leaves and weedy plight

She was perhaps the garden’s pride,
And somewhere near the flank I lied

One day, they plucked her,
Uprooted her till she cried

I watched her with my gloomy eyes,
They took her away, and bunched in a pile

I still lie here, near the flank
Unnoticed and dank

Still trying to unearth my worth,
But no one cares, hence no one hurts

Free verse – Third :

I heard a cry,
In a dawn, dark and dry
She was leaving with her memories,
without waving a goodbye

She glared at me once,
I looked back into her eyes,
Moistened were they with tears,
Hidden in them were abundance of lies

Her steps although followed,
The gateway to be opened,
I wished I could tell her,
What my desperate silence meant

The gates slammed back,
I stood there wordless,
Left there was a little bit of me,
And an entirety of herself

Not even coincidentally we met again,
To narrate the story I possessed,
Her presence was my pain,
Her absence, now my strength

“It wasn’t love, love demands to be deeper,
Feelings though generated, assertions were still weaker,
Life took a turn, and dreams turned around,
I won’t chase love, but excellence by now”

My story, no glory
Just a tale of poetic forlornly

Thanks for reading. You can mail your self written poems or suggestions to me at [email protected]


About the author

Sarthak Singh

Straightforward with words, believer of Murphy's law. I write when I want to let my emotions and thoughts out.

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