What is Poetry?
Perhaps a surge
Of fluid thoughts
Waiting to be molded
Like the wet clay
To exit from being formless
And take a concrete shape.
And take a concrete shape.
Stumbling, jostling, pushing,
Racing with each other
At a feverish pace
Till the abattoir of words
Punctuate it with grace
Reflecting the thoughts
That could survive
And make its entrance
In the form of a poem.
And make its entrance
In the form of a poem.
By Binita Jha
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