Poetry was one of the constants in my childhood days. My favorite subject at the time in school was English because it was the first subject where my teacher encouraged us to think independently. And believe me having a mind of my own was something I didn't even think of till then. The idea of having your own interpretations of the written or spoken word was absolutely fresh and appealing to me. The thought of voicing my opinion out loud ( and as an 8 year old back then , I was the definition of spineless) scared me. I was a huge fan of Blyton back then and spineless me felt that penning my thoughts was brilliant and totally safe. I had practically nothing much to do when I came back from school . I'd lug around a yellow notebook back at the time and write a few lines about anything that caught my fancy from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles to whether I really needed a brother. I wrote about snow , seasons , change , classmates I liked , classmates I hated and the future just around the corner. My rhyming was on a roll and so was I.
Were my poems any good? I had absolutely no clue. But I continued writing. My last poem was written when I was approaching 15 . I had a year of visiting family and friends in hospitals and chose to write about how people felt when they knew they were dying ( morbid I know , no one will be proud of me , unless they're Kubler-Ross). The effect of reading this poem was alienation and some not so approving looks aimed my way. Don't even ask me how my mom reacted but I did find my yellow pages turned to C for Child psychologist).
Writing about anticipating death was my last theme till now. I haven't been able to write any more poems because I grew out of that phase. But as they say , most things of our childhood have this tendency to pop up in our lives again and almost 12 years later , I'm back to writing poetry. I don't know where that old yellow notebook is , probably giving someone a few laughs somewhere back home. But I did come across my last poem and I'm putting it up. read it but remember I was a rhyme obsessed 15 year old , so no judging. It's there on my next post and its titled The Last Green Leaf.
Hopefully , I'll be able to write some more. And though its been 12 years , I'm still obsessed with rhyme.
Were my poems any good? I had absolutely no clue. But I continued writing. My last poem was written when I was approaching 15 . I had a year of visiting family and friends in hospitals and chose to write about how people felt when they knew they were dying ( morbid I know , no one will be proud of me , unless they're Kubler-Ross). The effect of reading this poem was alienation and some not so approving looks aimed my way. Don't even ask me how my mom reacted but I did find my yellow pages turned to C for Child psychologist).
Writing about anticipating death was my last theme till now. I haven't been able to write any more poems because I grew out of that phase. But as they say , most things of our childhood have this tendency to pop up in our lives again and almost 12 years later , I'm back to writing poetry. I don't know where that old yellow notebook is , probably giving someone a few laughs somewhere back home. But I did come across my last poem and I'm putting it up. read it but remember I was a rhyme obsessed 15 year old , so no judging. It's there on my next post and its titled The Last Green Leaf.
Hopefully , I'll be able to write some more. And though its been 12 years , I'm still obsessed with rhyme.
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