A poem is a river

Head-hardened dead rocks dare to block the way— The stumbling blocks of poesy well-nigh, The rules of grammar gathered yesterday, And those of prosody pose how and why. Still, let a poem’s river flow ahead, Let melody gets born from natural noise, Let things get ruled by heart, the least by head And music arise from poem’s own voice. In purest form, in its simplest so far, Ceaseless does flow river of a poem That shines like starry strings, not a lone star Whose brilliance blinds like a studded gem. So said and done, if a poem gets made, A product be of heart much as of head! ________________________________________ Sonnet | 10.08.2014 | poem Poet’s note: Flow of a river, and that of a poem…. Intellect contributed by head, dos and don’ts and the like, seem like rocks and stones blocking the flow of a river. When the river flows ahead over and aside these obstacles, music starts with the flow. A poem is always a product of heart to start with. The heart may have reasons unknown to head, but a stage comes when the later comes in to play some role. Yet, creativity comes from the chaos created by heart as the Gangotri, the womb of all poems.