Poetry Editing Made Easy

The body electric always comes up for air, straight E's or worse. All I did is Klingon. Knowing north is the truest of all art. It is a gift denied to none, a gift that resides at the center of one's being. Maya, god bless her soul, works overtime to surround us with lack of meaning, and it is the very pursuit of desire that reveals its pointlessness.

Human beings are compelled to question everything but the validity of their questions. Our education system emphasizes the quality of our answers but does not teach us to ask better questions. Most kids have experienced being told to stop questioning everything. Without ceaseless questioning, one cannot reach the point of not having any more questions. And that is the goal that all spiritual masters aim for - the cessation of questions. For the common man, you and me, whether we see it or not, the goal is not very different, to master the spirit, to become a spiritual master.


The first assignment I wrote in college got me into much trouble. It gave a line from a very famous modern Bengali poem and asked - is this poetry and why? I do not recall everything I wrote, but the essence of it was that anything that provoked a new perspective was art, and that poetry cannot be hemmed in by semantics. Broadly, I dissed the assignment and pissed off my professors. The system thrives on conformism and dies of it too. I revel in my Klingon while those who branded me count fretting on pay day over where to invest their money as an existential crisis.

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