NATIONAL POETRY MONTH
Poetry helped me when nothing else could
An ode to poetry writing in this National Poetry Month
There were days when surviving was difficult. It will be night a thick one at that. The dense visuals grow opaque and make your head spin. My brain would constantly be on churn. A churn I do not need. A churn I despised, yet it knew I was weak, it would play events, ideas, and situations and push them over a cliff, making me watch how things are getting destroyed, decimated, and completely ruptured. In a pool of sweat, I woke up telling it to stop, yet it did not listen.
Your skins start crawling, your senses start feeling numb, your sense perception moves out of you, your soul carves itself out of your body and roams around and you watch it feeling the fear of being nothing in this world, nor a man, animal, or a pound of flesh. You are nothing, the numbness completely captures your brain and your brain starts feeling heavy. It feels so heavy that you cannot pick it up but lay still with a sorrow you have never felt before, every single second of your day.
The cycle repeats, reiterates, and ruminates, again, again and again. You can cry, beat something to calm your anger down, or take psychedelics or any of your poison to let everything become a little receptive, but it's an endless cycle; it happens again, and again.
Despite all my struggles, and very straining times; it was poetry that kept me sane. When your heart bleeds and gets broken into thousands or even millions of pieces, you feel pain, you feel a sorrow that looms in your head every second of your day. You have to laugh; you can distract yourself, and appear joyful, but deep inside you are sad. You lose everything in the bleak of seconds, you run away but you end up again in a circumstance of self-pity and self-deprecatory rumination cycle. Sometimes the run can be too tiring, even 20k half marathon runs end after a couple of hours. That’s when you decide to make or break, I was a fool to keep running without choosing either option. But it's easier if you lay on either side, the suffering and the pain soften.
Poetry helped me escape my shackles in more ways than one. It told me that life can be beautiful and maybe a little bleak. In periods of turmoil and transcendentalism in my spiritual and emotional journey, I became expressive and also receptive to subtle movements in air, ether, and space. I could smell subliminal smells, smell the fragrance of weather; I could understand the talking of nature, the rain’s call, and the thunder of clouds, I could intertwine, despite visualizing the black dark filthy matter flowing inside my brain to and fro.
Poems became an outlet of expression, voicing my impression on things around me, understanding literary dissection and a myriad of creative interpretations all fell in line. Sometimes pain breeds art, but it's still not worth it. However, the art shines even if the toll is too hard on your body.
I will be publishing all poems which are short-form poetry, 5–9 lines, in this National Poetry Month i.e. April 2024, that I have written on Instagram during my fierce battle with OCD and mental health distress. It's better if it can see the light of day than sitting clueless in one dark alley of the dispersing enigma of the social network, or the internet.
Wishing you all a Happy NaPoWriMo (National Poetry Writing Month) 2024!
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