Oddly enough, some of the most wondrous things I discover are by accident. I make a random decision in passing, which ultimately moves me to my very core.
I did something like that a couple of days ago. I signed up for this live stream of Arunoday Singh’s poetry reading. I did it simply because I was curious. I brushed it as something to take up my time in this time of quarantine.
So I sat there, at 9:00 PM exactly and I listened to his poetry. I read some of his poetry.
And it shook me. Not because he wrote beautifully and enchantingly, which he did. But because I could understand his sentiments, I could relate to his feelings, his loss, his love. I could connect to his desire for stillness. I could breathe the words he spoke.
It was pure.
I felt still. Silent.
It was absolutely gut-wrenching in some ways. Painful. Torturous.
But beautiful nonetheless.
Things like this really make me wonder. Why am I not writing anymore?
Why am I not weaving my thoughts, my soul into poetry?
I should.
I will.
This depth of feeling is certainly worth it.
Memoirs of a Muse 