New post from Riya Jaiswal
“We miss you”, said They.
I wanted to say, I missed them back-
who adored me like nobody else.
How shall I tell 'em?
I'm too scared to write back;
I feel not enough
to equate it with my efforts to express.
I don't know if I try my best;
now, I'm void of sparks
which pushed me earlier
to get high with passion.
How to make sense?
Afraid to be questioned the same.
What makes a good poetry?
Rhymes? Imageries? Metaphors?
or Poet's Tenderness?
I played their strings carelessly
for when it became
about the 'perfect' art?
One day I hesitatingly disclosed,
want to write like Emily and William.
They kissed me and sang,
“Better recite your own version,
literature accepts everyone,
every melody, every ballad,
but no copy cats.”
What if I get lost, not embraced
amidst the pages of history?
“One day, you will.”
They never elaborated 'one day'
so patiently I stood.
Meanwhile letting myself scribble
in an illusion to never stumble,
someday, on that-