By: Dr. Archan Mehta

 

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Poem #1: Who Is a Poet?

 

One needs to be touched

With a divine madness

To be a poet.

 

After all,

A poet creates a poem

Only when our good

And dear Lord whispers

Sweet nothings in his ears

And the Devil starts to

Dance with two left feet

Dead drunk and stoned

Or worse,

Moving in for the kill.

 

A poet is labeled crazy

In a world of ridiculous people

Following rules blindly,

Devoid of an iota

Of intelligence.

People who can’t dream,

Who can’t think freely

‘and toe the official line.

 

A poet dances madly

In a world obsessed

About following conventions:

The masses, after all, will

Fall at the feet of 

Whoever is in power,

Even the village idiot.

The masses think

like the way

They are taught to think.

 

But the insane poet throws caution

To the winds and writes, regardless.

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Poem #2: Romance of Death

 

Sooner or later,

Death enters

Your home:

Without knocking,

Death announces its arrival

Like a snarling dog

Biting at your heels.

 

Sooner or later,

Death carries a dagger

With a jagged edge

Aimed to plunge

Into your collar bone

And bleed your heart

Dry like an abandoned

Rock lying upside down

In a dry, dreary desert landscape.

 

Sooner or later,

Death will whisper

In your ears that

It is time to go

And exit through

A wide, open, large door.

 

Sooner or later,

Death will say:

Your worldly success

And failure doesn’t matter:

Fame and fortune and romance

Don’t matter and, in the

End, only I count for you.

 

Sooner or later, death

Will claim your life

Like a ticket collector

On a moving train.

 

Poem #3: Remembering Piya Sen

 

You know

I would be

Lying if I told

You that I don’t

Find you attractive.

 

Truth be told,

Everything about you

I find is attractive.

 

The way, for example,

You toss your hair,

From side to side,

The way you play

 With your hair,

The way you caress

Your jewelry when you

Feel nervous in my presence.

 

Your eyes are shiny

And welcoming like an

Honored guest in your home.

 

Your home is your heart,

Which opens like a flower

To invite me inside.

 

Your eyes are like

The color of the ocean

During the hour of lunch.

 

Why do you stroke your own

Skin when you secretly

Feel like touching me?

 

I know you secretly

Long for me to follow

You like a stalker

Waiting in the shadows,

But complain that I

Take too much 

Interest in your life.

 

You don’t know what

You want but hope to

Find it one day.

 

Your naked passion,

Which throbs and pulsates

Like a rhythmic wave in

The deep, blue ocean.

 

You wait for me impatiently

Even when you know there

Is no chance I will ever

Visit you on my day of rest.

 

After all, it is Sunday and

You remember me and feel

Lonely and yearn for my

Presence in your life,

 

But I am not

There for you.

 

You spend long hours

Standing before the 

Large mirror in your bedroom,

Dressing up: trying on different

Clothes to please me, eventually.

 

There is no place to hide

Because my eyes follow you

Everywhere and I know about

Your heart’s sacred longings.

 

How much it pleases you

When, for example, a passing

Stranger says “hello” and smiles

In the early morning dawn.

 

How it breaks your heart

When I am not there

To comfort you during

Your frequent crying spells.

 

How you crave my soothing

Presence when you feel

Upset and throw temper

Tantrums, angry with your world.

 

How my soft touch and calm voice

Drive away the gloomy and

Dark clouds from the sky

Called your tragic life.

 

Honey, you are going

To have to learn to 

Live without my company.

 

My companionship means

The world to you, but I have

Drifted far away from shore.

 

Poem #4: Why I Create Poetry

 

I create poetry

To stay sane

In an insane world.

 

I create poetry

For the hapless

Masses, to help

And support the underdogs.

 

I create poetry

To feed a starving baby,

Holy milk from my soul.

 

I create poetry

Because I want to

Encourage people to

Slow down for a change.

After all, the masses are

Always in a hurry,

Starting from nowhere

And ending up in a grave.

 

I create poetry

Because I want to

Feed the souls

Of the pure and innocent.

 

I create poetry

Because it is a fading art.

 

I create poetry

Because I want to

Provide shelter to the homeless.

 

I create poetry

To shed light on a world

Falling to pieces, lying in ruins,

And stumbling in the darkness.

 

I create poetry

Because I am a loud

And quiet and aggressive

Poet who secretly 

Believes in peace and non-violence.

 

I create poetry

About realities and

Illusions and interpretations.

 

I create poetry

To awaken the masses

And disturb their sleep.

 

I create poetry

To provoke corrupt

Officials, who

Hold on to power

And influence,

With a call to take action.

 

I create poetry

To stimulate corpses

In the academy, who claim

To be intellectuals or worse.

 

I create poetry

To warn the world

That there is truth

In the democracy

Of ideas regardless

Of who owns the earth.

 

I create poetry

To serve notice

To those who

Command and control

That ultimately it is

The creative impulse

Which is everybody’s boss.

 

I create poetry so that

Everybody feels like a winner.

 

 

Dr. Archan Mehta

 

It’s Your Turn to Submit

 

 

Are you ready to inspire and enchant us with your poetry? Do you have problem-solving tips for writers and bloggers? Then we’d love a submission from you. 

 

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