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poetry in our lives

Human lives are but mere instruments in the hands of the Creator. Some will stand behind this conviction, while others will not. But almost all will agree- what we want to do and what we end up doing are hardly ever the same. What remains within our limits is the power to express. The eloquent expression of these human thoughts takes the form of what we know as Poetry. We express ourselves in views, feelings, and emotions. Poetry stands by us when we desire to express ourselves, our ideas. We take refuge to poetry when nothing helps. A concoction of lyrical expressions at times can be the sedative to soothe our confused mind.

Life with poetry
Let us ask, if anything matters in the world when we feel sad, depressed, happy, excited, confused, worried, insulted, or embarrassed. Harsh but true, nothing in space or time alters because of our varied emotions. Poetry is an exception to this rather corporeal and mechanical view of life. In the world of poetry, everyone is welcome to explore at any state of emotion and has every right to give new extrapolations or create new frontiers at any hour. Poetry is an inevitable phenomenon that we cherish within our hearts. For us, life is nothing short of poetry as we like to romanticise and philosophise and we are above all, pretty emotional by nature. This helps us to appreciate poetry. This does not mean however, poetry is the banner of emotional beings only. Poetry is our innate feeling that enables us to appreciate colours of life. A literary reflection in words is merely an edge that does not segregate but in truth, integrate.

My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah my foes, and oh, my friends-
It gives a lovely light.
- First Fig, Edna St. Vincent Millay
In love with poetry

When it comes to wishing a good friend, we often tend to our thoughts into something akin to creation of poetry. This effort speaks volumes for our inner conviction for the shared friendship. In the same line, some confess that they started to read, write and love poetry only after falling in love. The fact stands out as a contradiction that great masterpieces of words took birth in the hands of denied lovers!

SMS poems are a new addition to our lives and are more popular among today's young lovers and budding poets. This cultures a fondness for finer feelings and belief within the youth.

Consequently, in love or out of love, in happiness or melancholy, ecstasy or dejection, hope or hopelessness, rebellion or peace, poetry is our constant companion and eternal love. The issue is only of the amount of importance that we attach to this beloved poetry in a bigger or smaller quantity according to our own needs. In spite of it all poetry is always there and like a true love never leaves us alone. Poetry must have sworn-

all your dreams I'll take
all your cares I'll share
all your pain I'll heal
all your life I'll be there
all your dreams I'll turn into real
all your hate I'll turn them into love
I'll turn the hell into heaven
ANYTHING for you my love
What the poet says

Fortunately or unfortunately poets seem to be more productive under critical or extreme conditions with one singular exception, love (inevitably extreme but a euphoric state of mind which proves to be a boon for most poets). Nevertheless, strong negative emotions or experiences or occurrences are reported to inspire a poet more. This is what some young poets said when interviewed for the article.

If we turn our eyes to history, we will see that poetry played a powerful role in our Language Movement and Liberation War. Poetry emerged as a national tool to battle constant suppression and oppression. Only a single poem like “Shadhinota Tumi” by Shamsur Rahman will show anyone the heart of the people and their inner conviction. All other subsequent movements that followed only revealed more explicitly our love for freedom.

In the words of Eugene O'Neill -
Weary am I of the tumult, sick of the staring crowd,
Pining for wild sea places where the soul may think aloud.
Fled is the glamour of cities, dead as the ghost of a dream,
While I pine anew for the tint of blue on the breast of the old Gulf Stream.

I have had my dance with Folly, nor do I shirk the blame;
I have sipped the so-called Wine of Life and paid the price of shame;
But I know that I shall find surcease, the rest my spirit craves,
Where the rainbows play in the flying spray,
'Mid the keen salt kiss of the waves.

Then it's ho! for the plunging deck of a bark, the hoarse song of the crew,
With never a thought of those we left or what we are going to do;
Nor heed the old ship's burning, but break the shackles of care
And at last be free, on the open sea, with the trade wind in our hair.

By Fatima Tuz Zahra
Photo: Md. Abdul Guffar Babu
Model: Shourov Sarker

 
 

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