A Day to Poetry

Time streams from the nib of my pen. Inspite of this, whenever poetry strikes my worn out mind, my hands surrender to the compelling demand of it.

This is a story of a fatigued poet. There has been thousands of scripts and writings regarding a poet’s inspiration and poetry. How about some effort to paint a poet’s duty ?

I am a poet, a married man caught up in daily household duties. But the strife is between my wife’s expectation and my sense of detachment being a creative person. Differences between us is our daily diet --- then, when doth creativity come ??? She(Poetry) arrives after midnight when the clock strikes 12, when my wife is fast asleep after her nocturnal dose of complaints. I wake up from slumber and wrapping a shawl around me, I open the door silently, with stealth I step out and go after her-my princess. However, is it really possible that I am overlooked by surrounding neighbours Mr. Chowdhury (Medicine Shop owner) and Mr. Mukherjee (Grocery store owner) ?. They follow me everywhere and remind me of my daily debts and duties. That is how a poet survives with his creativity by taking shelter in his intelligence (practicality). After evading and avoiding all these, the poet can finally see the love of his life-Bonolata Sen., standing on a barren desert wearing a red saree, red bindi. And when she touches him, poetry flows. But, his guilt-laden mind asks what am I doing-Is it right ? Bonolata replies yes my poet-because for you Everything is true and right in your entirety.

The morning sun rises, poet returns home. Bonolata finds herself busy in his household matters. A POETRY IS BORN.