I sit with my body taut
And fingers fidgeting mindlessly
The mind though is working
Trying to find out
If it still wants to search
For the right word
This happens every time
I sit down to write a poem.

And I forgot to say that the eyes too
Slowly scan up and down
Without looking at anything in particular
And let the brain search in peace.

The whole body cooperates.

This ploy works every time, I tell myself
And the mind immediately protests:
It isn’t a ploy, it is
An involuntary reaction
And leads to a poem penned.
To others it seems as if the poet
Is immersed in the depth
Of some intense emotion.

No. The mind is just searching for the right word.

It is only when the right words
Come together that emotion
And even the poet is surprised
At what he has written
And rejoices with a smile.

But this isn’t strange
What happen after this is stranger
For, the poet sometimes reads
What is written and
Decides to leave the interpretation
To others
And smiles.

And so
Smiles are as mysterious
As poems!




Arvind Passey
16 June 2012