Tell me your god is a poet. And not because the
universe has been crafted as a perfect sonnet. Not
because love, like an ode scribbled on a brown
paper bag on a bus that’s always going away, cares
little about grammar or meter or form. Not because
random things happen like an unexpected close, a
strange foreign word that kisses your ear, a lyrical
movement that gently erodes your resolve. But
because every day what you see is different, even
the difference is like a poem that means something
else in the moonlight, a ghazal that reveals layer
after layer with each reading, until it twists and
mocks and starts undressing all over again. Who
else would conceive a constantly renewing truth
that drags your faith to the edge? Hail the poet.
Don’t we know ‘god’ is just a blessed pseudonym?
Recently the papers here carried news that the Oxford Advanced Learner’s Dictionary has added a bunch of new “Indian -English” words including hartal (a shutdown or strike), dabba (box – mostly lunch box) and shaadi (wedding). Will they find their way into poems from all over the world? We’ll wait and see!! Meanwhile, this poem came about yesterday, and as it happens with almost all of my poems, I have no idea what triggered it. Am just happy words are breaking through the fog- slowly, reluctantly, randomly – but words, nevertheless. If you’ve just written a poem, do share the link – I’d love to read it.