Why do I?
I really don’t know:
Can anyone ever express
how romantic the rains are?
Or how it feels
when two lovers get drenched in the rain for hours,
and not care about a probable paracetamol later?
Can anyone feel,
and not hear the subtle sounds
of rain pelting on the supine tin roof outside?
Can anyone express how, in his absence,
she feels the breeze gently kissing her?
Can anyone hear the echoes of one’s heartbeat,
or the sounds of silence?
Can anyone notice the orange rays of the sun
pierce itself through the slender opening of tree branches?
Can anyone see nature in Spring season
decked up in a beautiful green gown?
These pent up feelings and many more
flow nonchalantly only from the corridors of a poet’s heart.
How else do I write poetry then?