A love letter to poetry

Notes of a fearful writer

Nail marks imprinted on my palms

Veins popping in my hands

Metacarpals always bent

My elbow has forgotten its role

My spine and neck have been subjected to the most pain

The bending of my back has taken me back

To the times when I was told my story doesn’t matter

I don’t remember the last time I held a pen confidently

The ink has run dry

Lead has disappeared

I tried clutching onto my clutch pencil

I tried penning down my thoughts

I tried keying my story

I tried to record my words

Because I needed to escape…

I needed to usher words out of my mouth

And gently onto pieces of paper

And into folders on laptops

I needed to transcribe my poetry

I needed to know that my story would be inscribed in history

That generations to come will know me

I want my poems to be critically analysed

I want people to find meaning in them

I want them to find hope, courage, love, hurt, heartbreaks, death and life

I want people to find themselves in my words

Because it is in poetry that I found meaning

That I found hope, courage, love, hurt, heartbreaks, death and life

It is in poetry that I found myself

To the people who read my poetry

Know that parts of you are hidden between the letters, waiting to be recognised

You are manoeuvred into the curves of my sentence structures

You are bulging out in all those empty spaces

In every punctuation mark

You are present, in every word

You are my words

So how can my words not be worthy?

I have always said that I will speak until my mouth is dry

Until my throat is raw

Until my tongue is tied

Until my teeth clutter

Until my jaw is clenched

Until I lose my voice

And then I will speak in sign language

And I will still speak volumes.

Somebody once said that, “They thought we were making a noise, they are yet to hear us roar.”

Allow me to roar…

Through my writing

Through my poetry

Notes of a Courageous Writer

Smooth palms

Veins barely visible

Metacarpals bending and straightening themselves

Elbows bent

Spine and neck in its normal positions

Pen gripped tightly in my hand

Ink overflowing

Poetry dripping from each page

Pieces of me inked on each page

Poetry has been my safe haven

My form of escapism

It has helped me make sense of the world and to conceptualise things

It has been part of my growth

My poetry fills several notebooks

Notebooks filled with words

Words of hope, courage, love, hurt, heartbreaks, death and life

The last sentence in this notebook was

“The world is not ready to hear you roar.”


2 thoughts on “A love letter to poetry

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