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let’s go hunting for poetry again

March 19, 2014

‘let us go hunting for poetry in the woods, shall we?’

‘but why?’

‘because that is where poetry hides?’

‘no, poetry doesn’t hide, she’s not to be hunted either, we can find her right here, in the sounds, the smells and the riot of colours, or the cracks on this glass window blurring our view of worlds on the other side, thirsty worlds awaiting the first scent of rain, or in the wail of the ambulance that rushes past us, lest life succumb to that temptress death again.’

‘but we must find it and kill it and eat it. i’m hungry.’

‘you hunger for poetry, you say. and you would hunt for it, and kill it and eat it? it doesn’t work that way.’

‘how does it work then?’

‘you don’t hunt for poetry, you grow it, you sow a seed, till the earth, water it gently, and you wait, patiently. although you could go to the woods i suppose, but there are no woods to make poetry any more. and, anyway, haven’t we written enough about the woods and bubbling brooks already?”

‘i haven’t.’

‘hmm, you could buy some poetry you know.”

‘buy it? who sells poetry?’

‘i know someone, she just sold a poem, though i do not know what she charges for them.’

‘but i don’t have any money to buy a poem..’

‘let’s hope you can bargain your soul for a poem then’

‘my soul for a poem?’

‘great deal, no?’

‘no thank you, i’ll keep my soul, and hunger for poetry forever if i have to, than sell my soul to buy it..’

‘hey look out! open fields, coconut palms, also barren land; a colourful tent, and flags pink and white, a celebration perhaps. that must have been a school i saw, couldn’t read the signboard though. a railway crossing, vehicles big and small, pillows and unripe mangoes, and in another world: the pre-dawn shimmering of a city of lights that sleeps atop a mountain, and in an empty coach with a few men, women, and children sprawled on the seats, she sits opposite me, looking into that portal which separates our world — with its real windows, chilly mornings and temples and birds and railway tracks, smells of all kinds — from what’s replacing it: twittering tweeples and epic fails, ‘likes’ and a subversion of the meaning of ‘unlike’, and #hashtags for subtext..’

‘what are you going on about?’

‘oh, nothing, i was daydreaming, windows do that to me..’

‘let’s go hunting for poetry then?’

‘yes, let’s.’

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