Prose and Poetry

Prose stifles my cries
My song is suffocated in its folds
The dusty history of mankind
Chokes the throat
Of soaring imagination
Not that which you dream of
But this which has happened
Ugly , sordid , brutal
With just a few rays of real sunshine
With just a few drops of clean redeeming rain
This is what is real – if not true
For Truth is something very different from Reality
And yet my spirit struggles to break free
To say – you keep your facts , dusty History
And let me sing my song
That rises on the skylark’s wings
To a new Heaven
And glimpses therefrom
A new Earth as well
My imagination
Can transform
Not just the present and the future
But the past as well
I would remould it
To my heart’s desire
In my poems , if not in my novel
Humankind is dead
If it deals only with what is
Was or has been
Humankind needs dreams
And of the loveliest kind
Or what’s Life for ?
What for is there a Future
And what , after all
Is Heaven ?
For this is Hell
Which you call Fact
Free me from Prose , Muse!
Free me back into my iridescent
Ephemeral butterfly moments
Free me into uplifting Song

( Amita Sarjit Ahluwalia )

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