Monday, September 8, 2008


It was an ordinary day,
The sun rose,
Just as beautiful as it always does,
I sat down to describe its beauty,
Its warmth,
its splendor,
I felt it was my duty.
I could hear the birds chirping,
I could hear their sweet twittering,
There were those huge oak branches swaying,
As if dancing,
And the leaves rustling,
To the soft melody,
Of the gentle breeze.
Yes! It was just another ordinary day,
And as always there were the chirping birds,
But as I sat down to write,
I felt,
As if I had no words!!

What had happened?
All of a sudden!!
How could I lose my ability?
When all my life I’ve been writing poetry.
What had happened?
I could not understand!
So confused, so muddled,
My mind just wouldn’t apprehend!
And there I was,
Lost in my sea of thoughts,
Yet couldn’t produce a single word on paper.

But one thing I knew for sure
My mind was right, my heart- pure.
What was amiss?
I knew not.
But, I knew I had to find the reason,
And fast. Else it’ll be too late.
I threw my pen and cursed my fate!
Yet! Ah my life with its sorrows abound,
Poetry was where solace I found!
Now that was gone too -Oh God!
I need your help, My Lord!

I set to a hard day’s work,
Crossing many dangers,
Asking every stranger.
It was a long, tiresome task,
But I noticed something really strange-
Each man wore a different mask,
Different from its own identity.
“Was it some kind of enmity-?”
I questioned myself,“From their own soul and self?
“Which led them to live such a life?
They weren’t free- rather scared.
Asi f there were this huge knife,
somewhere close by, waiting to slice off their head,
While they waited and waited.
“Is this life all about?” I thought.
If yes, then I felt I was blessed.
I was free, I was careless
Of that I was sure.
And I started my journey back home.
Yet there was sorrow, and a piercing pain.
After all, what I had lost,
Was precious, not mundane.
The more I thought about it,
The more I seemed to regret.
What had happened was not my fault,
Yet I couldn’t forget.
“Is this what life’s all about?”
I asked myself,
But this time I got no reply.

As I was returning,
Walking in the rain to hide my tears,
I saw this innocent face,
Which knew nothing but fears.
“Is this what life’s all about?”
I asked myself yet again
And this time I got my answer-
‘Life, in itself, is one great pain”
All of a sudden, my words returned to me!
But this time,
I won’t waste them on things mundane,
I have a purpose now,
I am aimless no more,
Just one different day changed my life,
Made me see huger and strife,
Pain and loss, and anguish of the soul,
But- no more!
But- no more!

BY: Kriti Sharma, B.A. Hons. English 1st year.


vasu said...

Hey Kirti i read your poetry its such a beautiful poem ...with full of sentiments with full of joy..Keep it up Gal.......;))

meenz said...

kriti...........i finallllllyyyyyyyyyy read ur blog.....

loved d poem...awesome work.....!!!!

btw....did u rly hv loss of words for a poem as the main theme of ur poem? coz xcept d paragraph in wich u mentiond ur loss of words of poetry......d rest of it seemed to be much deeper dan dat!!!!

but...i loved it out n out!
good work! :D

creation said...

@ Vasu- the name's kriti, not kirti.
Thanks for your comments!

@ Meenakshi

This is not MY blog!
This the LitSoc's official blog. I am fortunate to have my work featured here. There's a link to my personal blog enlisted under the LitSoc members' blogs. Do visit it too.

As for the main theme- well, the loss of words was introduced to just build up the momentum for what lay ahead. I had to [i] start [/i] it somehow. Besides, it also symoblised the various travesties of life. After all, what could be worse for a poet than to wake up and find out that he lacks words!

subodh said...

hi kriti,
i was browsing through orkut and saw your profile. reading your comments about urself i was compled to browse the link.
you had written a meaningfull short poem....i really liked it.........
keep writting these.

AP said...

Do we have here the coming-through-the-trial motif? Of emerging through perils untold a better human being with a greater purpose in life? If so, is it always advisable to link with art, regardless of the form, some definite, concrete meaning, or purpose, especially some social aim? Is ripping aside the “mask” in favour of truth and 'light' the higher aim to which all artists must aspire?

To these contentious queries there are, of course, no easy answers...

Yet, for successfully raising these very contentious issues, and that too in light of the search for identity motif, your work must be commended and you yourself congratulated.

PS- Authorial intent might not matter, but what is it in this case?

PS (2)- I think I’ve been a tad too pompous…please don’t let that offend you!