I.
It flowed from a pen like tears down the cheeks.
It came from the heart,
It rose in the mind.
Words and images,
Metaphors and metonymy –
The mind wrote a tribute to the emotions,
The heart sang a hymn to the thoughts.
A poem took shape,
Young and beautiful,
Carrying the burdens of a soul
Captured in the prison of a body.
It flowed from a pen like tears down the cheeks.
It came from the heart,
It rose in the mind.
Words and images,
Metaphors and metonymy –
The mind wrote a tribute to the emotions,
The heart sang a hymn to the thoughts.
A poem took shape,
Young and beautiful,
Carrying the burdens of a soul
Captured in the prison of a body.
II.
It wafted away from the soul,
Gained various forms,
Made friends,
Gathered enemies,
Bantered with some and chided others,
Became one with another,
And playfully slid away from more….
Like the wanton cupid it struck hearts,
Like the impish Satan it defiled the minds,
Like the glorious angel it comforted some,
Like the morning mist it touched many lives.
The little poem cuddled
On a sheet of white paper,
A leaf of a book,
A page on a blog,
A pane on a website,
A scribbling on a note,
A memory in a bosom…
It wafted away from the soul,
Gained various forms,
Made friends,
Gathered enemies,
Bantered with some and chided others,
Became one with another,
And playfully slid away from more….
Like the wanton cupid it struck hearts,
Like the impish Satan it defiled the minds,
Like the glorious angel it comforted some,
Like the morning mist it touched many lives.
The little poem cuddled
On a sheet of white paper,
A leaf of a book,
A page on a blog,
A pane on a website,
A scribbling on a note,
A memory in a bosom…
III.
No name, no face,
No credo, no race,
It came to you
And it came to me;
It became mine
And it became yours;
And in that one poem the world found
A relation beyond boundaries.
No name, no face,
No credo, no race,
It came to you
And it came to me;
It became mine
And it became yours;
And in that one poem the world found
A relation beyond boundaries.

About the Author
Namitha Varma is a media professional and a self-proclaimed narcissist based in Mangalore. She has been reading and writing poetry since she can remember. Being a part of three different cultures – Malayali, Gujarati and Kannada – constantly broadens her outlook of arts, life and humanity. When not attempting to write, she is pointing out editing errors to her teammates, reading, listening to music and finding new ways to irritate her husband. She blogs at www.narcissistwrites.blogspot.com.
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