Poetic Reverence

Right here in my world lives hope. And forging ahead whence comes determination, a source to promote purposeful writing.

To me, writing has always been a soulful experience. I was accustomed so,very early, to seek for a variance in sound and syntactic structures, quite naturally.

Call it god given or a gifted curse, my name was on every critique’s lips for thinking differently.

And when I spoke a word fluently, but invariably spelt it wrong, it delighted everybody.

That was because I came up with my own unique version of making sense, quite emphatically. And perhaps in doing so, I persuaded people to think ,over and above, the patterns of confusing syntax, and discerned it with a different meaning, most truthfully. The take away from it all was to be comfortable in ambiguity, and without any hitch, erase what I could write down so automatically.

And then, in taking the analogy further, it was never too hard for me, to think about the word order, and engage in it dramatically. Authentically, perhaps, more than any other expression, poetry came to me naturally. What else?

Well, predictably so, my poetic effusions emerged as a by product of me being a problematic word speller.

The intrigue behind the association and dissociation of certain sounds in the smorgasbord of English word formations —always —made me think intensely.

And that, brought me to the interesting point of word usage, with its added effects of articulating sounds with their expressive meanings. In that sense, I have been a radical savage in terms of deciphering ideas, in connection with it’s signifying syntax embedded in it. And thence, if I were to be described as a writer , I could be a fowl in air, as the beast and cattle combine in a pair, only to yield me as their very own genetic heir!

So, as you can see, no singular vision can plague me because I face the feverish impulse of opening gates to other perspectives, even if their neurotic desires ,with their deepest longings come out in pairs haunting me. I follow through my writing commitments in all sincerity in order to get close to the “truth value,” of those narratives.,more dastardly. In that sense, perspective taking follows me as I dare to scribe so ardently. Accordingly, anything with it’s genuine complexity intrigues me . And also by sharing the honor of those voices, I look into the shades of psyche formations ; that which sensitizes me to their inner highs and lows ; so duly noted most diligently. More so, it makes me aware that we are not robotic- beings. And by embracing the life energy of a free spirit, I choose to share this quote by Jean Paul Sartre : “Freedom is what you do with what’s done to you.”

In that sense it’s like imbuing myself with a particular form of dishonesty, as and when , I see and soak myself in, what’s seen or unseen, so surreptitiously.

Furthermore , to my childlike mind that’s a simple delight to chase and dare honestly. With that stated clearly, I don’t select words to specifically bind them to their word identities. Very early , I learnt that a word could pop up in different forms wherein, their syllables c’d unpack the delights of clever playfulness while combining their synonyms in many impactful ways sagaciously. So, upon hearing judgements over my misspelt words , I dealt with the connotations; aspects of telling one thing and implying the same thing one way or another punctiliously.

More seriously than necessary I bind my interest to everything that flows naturally to my understanding with ease. Call me a progressive or somebody you cannot understand, I prefer not to be caught up in a web of identities perennially. In that sense, I have relinquished many images pushed onto me, those considered to claim me from me.

Something of that past still lingered unto my present and it all unfolds in free versed poetry.

Years ago, I began my journal entry with the following opening lines with following soliloquy which I quote here

“Into dying arms of fate my mien was staged stillborn 

As topsy-turvy over twisted brows,

inlaid upon those majestic crowns

O! Such stuff hung up in air, quite contrary, on its own 

Into airings put forth as in untenable breaches;

Unto risings ineffable so tempestuously grown 

O! Look! To that, 

A subdued pang, a dead beat to an impulse, still lingers on

And ,as of , in cut-throat melancholy, none the worse, for that : I was born”

The content and structure in the above soliloquy were built with the hope that it would motivate me to reflect about life in stark contrast, conveying a sense not just in the choice of words, but rather claiming it’s main point of context.

Furthermore the above journal entry was shadowy and allegoric .. somewhat , a more generalized abstraction of life . Therein , a confession comes through quite naturally ; it’s main point drawn towards causes of the dubieties that c’d work into life.

Perhaps , the poem in it’s long form fully exhibited the extreme sentiments ,and sketched out a cloudy illusion of events and incidents, in a  peculiar kind of way.

Towards the end of the poem, it dashed into a unifying theme of how fate and fortune led me into a transcendence which is timelessly eternal . Nevertheless, it bothers and teases the way life probably cheats . 

That poem aimed to capture a brooding spirit which courageously sought hope,

and it also vented a double attempt to exhibit the contrasting parallels of joys and sorrows, failures and successes which cudgel as elements in shaping life as it is.

In a steady sense, this poem ingenuously  summoned me to dig deep —apparently, upon life’s incidental contexts. 

The description spoke up commandingly without a hitch! 

... And the rest that was unsaid was left to those who sought their own form through this offering. The main purpose was to give it’s reader a sense of connection to follow their own —truth reveals.

In short and at length, throughput, I had depicted life as deceptive and presented material that made life look like a motley fool while handling deceit.

And of course , the spice of injustice which quite certainly revealed at the end turned out to be quite ironic... as if, echoing—What is alive is seldom truly perfect. And to attain perfection one must dig graves or write epitaphs to understand the good in the good and bad in the bad.

Such scavenging unearthed the deficiencies constituting the makings of destinies, and in one sense of the subject , amounted to this:

Life comes with no warrants of excise and no guarantees of analysis as it is wholly surprising. It exists in the inter-twists of an extraordinarily different form of amalgam which represents this legit’ premise : 

What’s construed as a cognitive enterprise is actually an adjudication of perspective to life!

Thusly all experiences that life bestows upon us as teachings may or may not assist us in achieving it’s full intents.

For Good or for bad , and for better or worse, some instances, seemingly altered the very essence of my presence; of living as a “being,” in itself. 

Years from then to now I wrote another poem about Life being very precious with a different perspective attached to it .

Here’s a glimpse of a recent poetry written on Life.

O! Precious Life!

How upon innocence you gently lay

As fate so ardent swept its' way

Throned upon times,

Apace in such grace;

Rampant, yet not yielding,

To be magnificent, as is, come what may!

With seasons due to outdo,day after day,

As tidings recurrent, moving beyond elisions, wave upon waves

There, there, Forget not,

Oh! There comes reason, as a grown substance,beyond the cranial brains 🧠

It is there —where I stand from,

Where from, I sift thro’ a meaningful change !

Ah, for those hallmarks reigning, claiming spectacular, in it’s own courses game,

Here and now, done and fully dusted, these thoughts gather their own naming fame

And while each color barters ,each blush onto charities, to see these flashes : gripping every face

Along comes that much of muchness, remaining in phantom, to simply skimp and scatter away

O! For that — it is, and as yea surreptitiously gave,

A lifetime full of smiles; and many more to embrace !

And allured by those pleasures chiming thro’ those musical waves… I still remain !

Such is thy charm —so splendid—as an element in an image; echoing back in resounding plays

For fountains of joy so hard rooted in gay

Yet costly as in priceless, bounded upon particles, with root holds over virtuous ways

With thrills to spill and exploding life from out of this naked space

Broken but not beaten, it remains, not to turn away !

O Look ! There goes precious life ,

Forthwith pacing and smoothly driving;

Stringing each woe off of any troubled day

The above poem on the subject of “life,” is the hope that inspired me to keep up with practice of writing and convey a well rounded view of the offerings it makes on life. In it’s most important dimension it links to the previous poetry on life and marks a series of steps that eventually point the need to look back again around the subject of life but this time with a different perspective.

Conclusively, both the writings project me as a sojourner conveying the same subject of life, but in substance constituting a displaced content which grounds me to life. In that sense it can be viewed as transformative as it walks on cathartic grounds as it ends in hopeful notes .