In the abyss of finding a voice that glares through the roof and blinds the pain,
Through the seeping crevices of forethought syllables, my stance I pledge to gain.
Confounded in the strass of stride, I fill the cup with words that I yearn to set me free.
I wish to hide myself in the far lands of life, to hide myself in the depths of my poetry.

I wanted to adorn this piece with exquisite words, dive deeper into the jewels of vocabulary that are seeped into my mind and curate a creation that moves people, stirs conversations, and inspires you to find myself, through the eyes of the poet or creator that belies to be in you. I have always yearned for my words to finally find their place, to propagate peaceful enamours of life, to encapsulate your mind and to infuse the beauty of life in your heart.

They say if you hurt a poet, you will find a piece of your endeavour in the precipice of their fury fuming through the words they write, the art they consume their being in to be named a masterpiece. I cannot ever disagree with this, for I have known pain in its deepest breaths, and have tasted the amorous accolade of animosity that seems to be in its friendliest glance, brimming through the golden light.

I have known the adore of hope and the brim of despair where nothing ceases to rend your soul. I have danced in the storms and have ridden through the waves of excitement, cried with the rain and smiled with peonies of warmth that the sunshine brings. In every strip of the quest, I have shielded my heart through my words.

It was when the darkest hour bled me dry,
And I was left with no tears left to cry
I discovered my prowess of metamorphosis, which wages wars and brings solace that strives,
To find the light within me, to finally come alive.

Dripping through the inked pages while sipping my coffee, my quest of adorning myself with the gorgeous title of a poet has not always been easy. I have always found myself lost in the pages of poetries by Rumi, Sir Rabrinath Tagore, Kamala Das, Sarojini Naidu, Ghalib, and Rupi Kaur and envisioned myself to be like them one day.

Breadwinning through life and healing hearts fostered by the craft I entail. But as one daydreams of a vision that does not let them sleep, it forges to be their reality. I hail pride in my work and being recognised as a top poet nationally, honing the truth that this dream belied to be a farsighted reality that fleeted too far away.

If I could go back in time before my coffee turned too cold, I would shout in glaring echoes and tell my younger self that we made it, not only through the passages of desolation but also embracing the victory of our words finally getting the love and recognition they deserve.

As I look back, I finally realise why I yearned to become a poet. Because when your voice is shut down for far too long when your words hold no meaning in a room filled with people who claim that you belong yet treat you as someone odd and unworthy. When every scream you screeched the bane of your existence through, every said tale of suffering that you wish to be heard turns to be unheard, you question your existence, you finally realise the importance of loving yourself to the dimwits end, so the lack of the love or inconsistent efforts from others cannot break you anymore.

Poetry is like gasping in the air of comfort and reassurance when the world around is trying to bleed you dry. I lost myself in the world of my creations only to find myself, finally realise how beautiful, talented, creative and amazing I am. And it is not because I have the extraordinary gift to weave words in an acrostic flair of mesmerizing essence, it is because I simply exist. It fosters to be in the simplicity of me simply floating through life and bestowed with the grit to go on. It is through the love that I give, and the kindness that I embody that makes me a wonderful being.

I still struggle with the perfectionism of having the perfect piece that rhymes, a structural flow that makes the reader's heart chime. I still fall into the toxic comparison of glorified trajectories of others my age, only to find myself filled with rage. But as I step back and look within, I step into the freedom that poetry brings.

Unafraid in its nurture, the one that stands tall,
I hope you find the courage to be kind to yourself even after you fall.
Enclasped in the might of love, the one that never betrays,
On this World Poetry Day, I hope you find your voice that once was strayed.

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