Sometimes, I think, poets have all the fun.
Writers of prose have been called wordsmiths for a while now, but poets are the elite wordsmiths. If I were to use the controversial (and potentially politically incorrect) yet appropriate Indian terminology for them, I’d say, they were the Brahminical class on word-smithery.
Poetry employs lesser words, often violating grammar; yet has an impact more than prose can.
I thought of a few beautiful poems that are the epitome of romance; they play now as I write this post, yet I think twice before posting them. These poems are from a few years ago. When times were different. In our new-found eyes, these poems may be anti-this or anti-that. They may be this-ist or that-ist. Did love change from the 70’s to the 2010’s?
We live in difficult times.
Our words may be our own, but their meanings belong to those who want to extract directional meaning of them, so that they can use it for their own purpose. For, we have taken democracy to the extent that – it is easier to make meaning than ask for it. When we disagreed to disagree. There is much more in life that we have than we had a few years ago, yet we have less of everything.
Romance died soon after we stopped making poets. And we stopped making poets when we stopped reading and listening poetry.