If you don't write poetry

 
Dear Snigdha, in these melancholy days of COVID-nineteen,
my morning begins each day reading your poems.


I love waiting here
to touch some new creation of yours.
Your patience, your devotion
enchant and possess me daily.


Some of your writings carry root-touching feelings
that keep me calm and steady even in these troubled times.


Now, when I've lost all strength of mind, crumpled and crushed,
your poetry makes me think, gives me weightless refuge,
awakens some blessed sense within me.


Your poetry teaches me
that now there's nothing to be done
but accept everything. So
I accept now, will accept
whatever comes to pass.


Your writing brought me this wondrous strength!
I wish your pen a long and healthy life.
May you live on in this world as a word-magician—
my prayer remains. Lately, being able to love you
works a kind of summit-touching pride within me.


Snigdha, I've noticed for some time now
that you can sing beautifully too.
When you reach the end of a song and say,
Hey, kid! Give me a clap now!
I burst into laughter all by myself then.
You never hear it, because
you have your own absorption, you remain lost
simultaneously in many things.


This... disappearing of yours in moments,
then returning to me in the next moment—
I understand both clearly.


By now you've understood quite well
that I can't tell you anything coherently.
Whatever you say, in response I remain
limited only to some yes or no.


You know, these days listening to you...
I set aside the tears inside my eyes,
forget the sighs accumulated in my chest.


You and I never stay with just personal talk—
our conversations hold stories of the whole world.
Listening to you I understand your heart's courage,
understand your heart's wounds, anger or rebellion too.


I understand your pain at human death.
Your humanity becomes clear,
many other things become clear too.


Live in health, Snigdha!
If you don't write poetry, some more people
will only make weapons of destruction to fight despair!