A Poem Rumi Forgot to Complete

  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 Intelligenc...

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 wr...

How do you want to be captured?" you ask.  Don't you know how to capture me? Don't you know the art of being immortalized in words? Haven't you made me a prisoner of your love?  I want to lie on the pages of your diary where you'd put dry flowers. I want to bleed into your ink. I want to be a permanent part of your daily blogs. I want to smell like your hands that leave their scent when you touch my soul.  Baby, imprison me in your thoughts. Cage my whole life in your eyes. Bury me in your heart. Wear me in your skin.  Don't you know I want to be captured by you? And only you.

We both knew this poem would not be finished. It would always remain a piece of incomplete work. But, still we chose to write the first word - love - for the poem of our lives. The first word that would change our lives forever. The first word that would mean more than the last. The first word that we wrote with our souls. The first word that we would always remember. But we never thought about finishing that poem because the endings were not always beautiful. We were afraid that completing this poem would ruin its beauty, weren't we? It was never meant to be a complete piece of art. It was broken, incomprehensible, unfinished, and a little ruthless like our love. It was like a wanderer in the forest. It resembled the journey of gipsies. It was a pearl, lost in the mighty ocean, waiting for its turn to be found. But that unfinished poem carried our memories. The moments that we shared, the days that were spent in search of a perfect ending, the nights that we almost found a finishi...