Where are you?!!

Where are you?!!

How old is poetry?

Was it born when the tribal hunter’s arrow first struck?

Did it rise as tears from the dark caves of the past?

Was it filled with salty pain, or sweet like honey?

Was it as beautiful as butterflies,

Or like the drums and bees buzzing together,

Singing like a first soft feeling of love?

No one knows...

Poetry, with just its sounds and soul,

Sprouted without a crowd, without permission.

She runs without being caught,

Half seen in the eyes, half hidden in silence.

A tune beyond words, close to pain,

That became something only felt.

She flows like roots slipping away,

Words break if we try to hold them.

She hangs only in thoughts,

Comes like a memory, and then disappears without warning.

When we try to sing her, she goes quiet.

She needs no name,

She is a shade, a soft presence.

Always beside us —

Even if one day I’m gone,

Poetry will still remain.

GR kaviyoor 

16 05 2025