First Poem

By Meenakshi Thakur

I often wonder,

Why and how

Was the first poem written?

Was it a wane effort

To smoothen the rough edges

Of that broken heart

Whose pieces occasionally

Pierced through the chest?

Or was it a silent cry

In the deafening silence

Of agony and pain?

Or was it an effort,

To find a quiet ear,

In the noisy crowd of lips

Where without judgement

that seemingly empty heart

Could be poured out..

Did the reader,

Who first glanced

At that trivial piece

Really feel the ardour?

Did an unshed tear,

Reach the corner of the eye?

Or was it just tossed away,

In a sense of naivety

Much like a golden leaf

That is forgotten and hidden under

The pile of thousand dead autumn leaves…

But even if

A single mouth smiled,

And eyes shined

I don’t need to know

Those why and how..

For every piece that

Makes a heart skip its beat

Is well remembered

With the poet immortalised

As the spaces between his own words

By Meenakshi Thakur