William Wordsworth once said "Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful emotions recollected in tranquility." However, my poetry had its origin in the unexplored depths of my inner void. Well as my humble beginnings as a dream to be a poet, I remember the hard pondering days, battling with hope and delusion. I have to recollect well, my first brush with letters and verse. It all started when I was in my 6th divisional grade.
My schooling was very much academia and the vigour of young boys' lives was reduced and limited within the world of textbooks. It was here in my school that I started penning down my thoughts into poems. I don't actually know who really triggered or ignited my mind with the spark of literature and creativity. My first poem brought me trash and torturous experience.
When during a class session, my teacher discovered my 6 lined poem of nature, she tore the page into pieces and reduced it to the dusty wind. I was frightened and shivered to my core and school didn't figure it out and encouraged the writer in me. The dreams of a budding poet were shattered even before he was born and realised. I don't know how imagination painted in verse can cause you harm while in school. I thought it was all over and my poems were dead.
This story is from the June 2024 edition of Woman's Era.
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This story is from the June 2024 edition of Woman's Era.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.
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