who is a poet?
Today I meet someone who said poetry is a thing of jobless people, who have nothing better to do, someone who has a lot of time on hand to waste! I was surprised, offended a little. So is that what it is? The one who appreciates life and sinks into its little matters-of-nothing is an indolent mental? Do I write poems because I have nothing better to do? No one better to talk to? Am I the only one who believes life sustains in the fractions of moments. Am I the only one who shies from the affluent years? I am mental ain’t I? I am that person at the end of the row, with head phones on and talking to herself. I am the person who is startled once in a while by the loud laughter around. I am the person who talks less and yet is talked to, a lot. I am not a poet; not yet. I am not some divine Buddha who acquired the truth of life. I am not smart. I am not courageous. I am the one who pulls in her knees and is on her guard, upon a feather's touch. I am the one who gives ...