Metapoetry

Metapoetry

  

  

March 14, 2020

Words mirror emotions, like

shadows mimic objects

They both supervene, like

mathematics and reality

Reality comprises two form:

one physical, one mental norm.

Former is mathematical

and easily explainable,

Latter is self-contradictory -

in the world of imaginary.

Poetry supervenes imaginary universe -

in the form of a prose or a verse.

Verse is the old tradition

which blooms in the limits of cognition:

couplets, rhyming, pattern, alliteration.

Such limits on poetry

glows up its beauty .

Subtle words and aphorisms,

acting like metaphysical prisms,

splits emotions and feelings

into hundreds of different meanings -

each specific to the readers' life:

his secrets, ambitions, and strife.

These meanings are alive

they walk, talk and cry,

they find meanings alike,

and the anti-views: they dislike.

Similar meanings stick together

just like a wet feather.

They hold each other, walk, talk

and find purpose of their flock.

These meanings create entities:

thoughts, habits, cultures, and races.

As time goes by, their strengths augment

like water draining from sink to the vent.

Streams are slow at the start

Beliefs are singular at the start,

as streams come together

they become faster and faster,

like the beliefs which are merging:

polarising, intensifying, and strengthening.

Imagine that this flow time scale

is same as humanity time scale.

Imagine that the flow streamlines 

represent races, cultures, and thoughts.

You would expect them to conflate 

as newer generations descend 

the way streams assimilate

as they approach the vent.

and they come out

haphazard, strong, loud:

converging at a spot

like a singleton thought.

May I propose this singleton concept,

to you dear readers, 

as a hypothetical state

where our emotions are heading

where poetry is heading

where our mind-spaces are heading.

To explain more clearly,

I see thoughts and beliefs separately -

thoughts are fluid, beliefs are solid,

let’s make each of these terms more lucid.

Thoughts are the ideas and concepts 

you acquire from surroundings, 

they evolve, grow, die, modify

and spread like virus,

they intensify on integration of cultures:

closer the people are,

closer the cultures are,

closer the minds are,

thoughts sync together,

their strength amplifies in unison -

to reach towards the singleton stage.

(In these times of internet,

this is highly liker to occur,

owing to social networks, capitalism

and notions of herd intelligence.)

Beliefs are predilections of an individual 

whose sources could be genetic

or childhood experiences: we mimic 

our childhood as we grow old.

As time goes by,

these beliefs will get superseded by

singleton thoughts, highly likely,

and influence all aspects of humanity:

arts, politics, science, economy, and poetry.

Poetry resides in limits.

It grows virally within clutches of 

word sequences, styles, and tones -

atleast this has been the trend in the past.

I suspect that in future

many poets will get clutched in

the chains of singleton thoughts.

But poetry is an individual art, 

to express your personal beliefs in 

an aesthetic and contagious form.

Poetry is the mirror of your beliefs.

Amidst this fight between belief

and thought, most poets in future

will get attracted to singleton thoughts

since its globally tempting and rewarding.

A conscientious poet, realising this conflict,

will try to find a way out.

In an attempt to express beliefs,

poet will realise how difficult it is 

to not think of singleton thoughts 

and how blurry is this boundary.

Dark clouds of thoughts will

hide these shiny droplets

of personal beliefs which used to be

the building pillars of poetry in the past.

As times goes by,

as these shiny droplets

become difficult to retrieve

and boundaries difficult to perceive, 

a potential way out is likely to

use the sunrays of silence, to 

vanish the clouds way,

vanish the droplets away, 

detach your mind away from 

clutches of thoughts and 

instead of excavating beliefs, 

you find an empty space where

you don’t feel to express anything -

you don’t feel to think anything |

when poets go silent,

when poetry achieves silence.