Skip to main content

Can Poetry Matter?

 

Can poetry matter by Rabail Anjum, aabiwritesalways
Design by Author (Copyrighted Content)

What a stupid question! Of course, poetry matters. But, the question is why? Why does it matter? Why it is essential to have a literary personality - no I am not talking about self-help books. Poetry is the way to heaven, it is done when we can't describe feelings in words - not even in fiction. 

Can Poetry Matter?

It can matter if you have the right mindset. It liberates people. What life would be like if there was no poetry? Isn't the world would be so boring? People like me rely on the beauty of words. Words that tear us apart, words that would kill us, and make us think about our whole existence. But, why does it matter?

Why does poetry matter?

Ever wondered how a few words can shake your whole world? You whole perspectives of the world? Of thoughts, of opinions? Of everything you believe? It might not be making sense to you if poetry is just poetry for you but for me, it is a doorway to a whole new world like Artificial Intelligence. It makes our imagination run wild. With no fear of being judged, poetry has its own way of opening our hearts. Just imagine, would Rumi be famous if he had not found Shams? 

There would be no rhythm, no music, and no colours if there was no poetry. Even the God is the greatest poet and storyteller. Just observe the universe, everything is perfect with a rhythmic flow. The perfectly aligned geometry and designs are the biggest proof that poetry is not created but it has been found like the discovery of fire. 

Poetry explains complicated concepts in simple words

The beauty of poems lies in explaining complicated topics in few and simple words. I was more into Sufi poetry and I have a knack for mystic poets of South Asia. Here are some examples that explain the controversial topics in such simple words:

Kabir asks us to find God within by saying: 

"Like the pupil in the eyes
The Lord resides inside
Ignorant do not know this fact
They search Him outside." 

And when Shah Latif explains the relationship between God and Iblis, he says,

"Izareel (Satan/Iblis) was the only true lover
And all others mere charlatans," 

Isn't it amazing? 

There are millions of examples I wanted to quote but Freddie Mercury says, "True poetry is for the listener. It ruins the mystery if everything's explained."

Final thoughts

It is absurd to think that poetry cannot matter. It matters and it matters a lot. But the whole concept of literature and art is subjective. You cannot make understand anyone the essence of poems if they have not opened their hearts to it. It is for people who ponder, wonder and are self-aware. That's all for today, comment below your favourite lines till we meet again.

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

In the Abyss of Despair

I lost, when, where and how. I don't know. What did I lose? I don't know. Was I really in the abyss of despair? I had no idea. Maybe a part of myself, a piece of my heart, my soul? I couldn't figure it out. I never would. It was so sudden that I couldn't gather the courage to find it again. Why it was like that? Was I miserable? Or I was just overthinking? Was there any hope for me? Or I was just being overdramatic?  I wanted to scream, I wanted to share, I wanted to yell the hell out of me but I couldn't. How could I? The only thing that kept me alive, was no more with me. Without a soul, the words did not weigh much. I had only words. The words that had kept me alive. Without them, I was nothing, they had lost their impact. I was wondering in the sea of nothingness. My surroundings were nothing but the abyss of pessimism. I could have escaped but there was no need to escape. How could we escape ourselves? In the process of escapism, we lose the essence of the self
31 comments
Read more

A Poem Rumi Forgot To Complete

They ask me who am I. Should this question be asked? Of course not. Sadly, I have no name, it ruins the beauty of mystery. The name does not matter, does it? Many people died without anyone remembering their names. They were incomplete stories, unwritten words, and undiscovered thoughts. I want to remain like that too  because I am a poem Rumi forgot to complete. Today, I choose to write about that incomplete poem. But why I am the poem of Rumi? And not of Shakespeare,  Shah Latif, or Bullhe Shah?  Because Rumi had Shams.  Shams acted as a muse for Rumi. When he started that poem, he lost his muse; thus an incomplete poem was born. An incomplete chaos, an unsolved puzzle, and everything that is lost on the way. We all are someone's Rumi and someone's Shams - doesn't it sound amazing? But in reality, neither you are a Shams nor I am a Rumi. We are those words that were never said loudly. Words that were only thought.  So, starting from this, I finally tried to write about my
12 comments
Read more

Whispers of the Wicked: Trembling Hands

Whispers of the Wicked He looked at his shaking hands. A few weeks ago, he was just fine. He had no trembling hands. He did not sneeze and cough most of the time. He was full of energy. He was never grateful for that.  "Did I take my health for granted? Isn't this the same for everyone?"  This was his first time experiencing this kind of thing, the illness. Definitely, health was a top priority but he had taken many things for granted, his career, his partner, his life, his happiness, God, everything he could think of. He had taken almost everything for granted. He was so sure that he would never lose any of them. So, he took everything causally. Nothing was important for him anymore. Not his name nor his fame. He preferred to keep it simple, but was his life really simple?  He thought in the middle of the night. He looked back at his past, full of regrets but he wasn't ashamed, he never would be. Because that's what he was - a shameless person with no regard for
5 comments
Read more