By: Maan Villar



                Overly creative, my mind is. So, I have ran through websites that offer free and foolproof (I suppose since these methods are published and are claimed to be tried and tested) ways to get m life or anyone’s life back on track, magazines offer the same tidbits of advice for a minimal fee coming in as the cost of purchasing the magazine. One of the ways to do this, as they claim, is to learn new things and keep myself busy. In consideration of such, I suddenly get an ample doze of inspiration, a sudden upsurge of the old passions, like a coal or fuel added to an old fire burning within myself. My room was the starting point, I started de-cluttering, redesigning and fixing everything giving it a new order and look and feeling so triumphant at the end since my room is like a nightmare, or something struck by a tornado or some other calamity. It felt like I cleaned up a piece of myself, I always believed what they said that your room is a reflection of who you are, and doing such deed was really symbolic of my mending back the little tears or holes in the fabric of my life. I also made more room by throwing out the pieces of junk that have cluttered up my room, similar to my making room for more valuable knowledge and skills that I am to learn. I start learning POETRY more formally this time; writing is something I do out of artistic license and passion so it’s a skill I am “familiar” with. Relearning is more of the right term for it, poetry writing is an underdeveloped skill as I have written several poems in the past and had them published but it is not a fully-formed skill, still is half-baked. With zero availability of courses in literature or creative writing, I ran to the school library and borrowed books on the subject. A famous writer/intellectual once said that “everything we learn is self-learned” so thought why not learn the ropes around making good poetry and be in my own right a poet.


                Poems, in my opinion, are like riddles, you never really know the reason behind, the inspiration, the mood and the emotional state the writer has at the time. You read them over and over and it gives you a peek into the world it was created in or the world created for it and if you are lucky enough, you get a clue of what is inside the writer’s mind and the story behind such a piece, if you are luckier enough, these things are explicit. As Gemino Abad puts it “what we seem to know about the world is always a text”, and poetry is an outlet of putting together letters, syllables, words, lyrics, rhythm and emotions just like any great book or essay, it has that same magnitude of power to change the world and be a precursor to change, a brainchild to movements and ideologies as what The Factologist, Basho, Erika Jung, Keats, Maya Angelou and many others have done.


                Mr. Abad would also say that the principal theme is always why one writes at all. As a musician myself, poetry is built on the same precepts music founds itself on, many similarities bind poetry and music some obvious to the common observer and others lie in the deeper recesses of the imaginative mind. The greatest songs are created with rhythm, melody and harmony as the backbone and with words and their poetic assemblage are they given color. Some rock songs have very good lyrics that when you take the music out and read it as it is, it would pass as a poetic masterpiece, the same is true for any other song but rock musicians would take the top notch in musical circles as to the creation of lyrics that are above par.


                “Like other people writers of course do many other, and more important things than write – they fall in love, and raise their children and espouse other causes, lost or political; they fail and suffer like other humans, love again, teach, die little deaths, earn a living other than from writing. Yet if they didn’t write from all those other things that they do or endure, all those would seem rather paltry or jejune – routine and rout, all-proliferating just as though they had never lived. They must needs write, it is their nature. Or so it seems, as they earn the living and writing.” [Abad]


                “One is curious as how one could look again with words and see things clearly again…”

                And so, I write again, this time in rhyme, rhythm and verse – a new voice, a new mode of expression, a reinvention of Language and a newly forged field of my Imagination.


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