Foreign tongue
Poetry is a foreign tongue
Tracing indecipherable contours
On a page
Until it bypasses understanding
In words
To leave sketches in emotion
Until it bypasses your mind
To stir your heart
Then poetry sprouts
Among the words on a page
And in our experience
It is not to be understood , but felt
Known in the depths of feeling
Not the shreds of analysis
And we learn to feel, relate
To a foreign tongue
Until it turns familiar
Poetry is
when the other
becomes our own .
—shubha
No comments:
Post a Comment