deponti (deponti) wrote,

How the words come....

Writing poetry
Is not something I can do
I start feeling strongly
About something,
And,over a period of time,
The words form themselves...
They clamour to be written down
Until I must heed their call,
And set them down in black and white.

Karna was born through Kunti's ear:
Jesus' was an immaculate conception.
Others were born out of sacrificial fires.
Poetry is a child
That is conceived in the heart
And takes birth
Through one's fingers,
With perhaps a tear or two
Easing the path of the words
Into the world.
Tags: language, poetry, sadness, writing

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