My Own Verse: A Poet's Diary

often, we think poetry happens only in the quiet of a library. looking at these lines—written in places like the indian coffee house or amidst the dusheri mango season—you’ll see that the best poems are waiting in the noise and clutter of our daily routines. if you’ve ever felt a poem stuck in your throat but didn't know how to pull it out, that is exactly where we begin.

there is a rhythm to the city if you stop long enough to listen. whether it’s the lingering scent of rain in jamia or the specific melancholy of lodhi gardens, my work is about documenting these fleeting observations. these aren't poems written in isolation. they are exercises in 'attending'—the act of looking at something closely until it starts to speak back.

for me, poetry is the practice of noticing. it’s not about finding the perfect rhyme or fitting into a rigid structure. when we walk through sanjay van or gather for a quiet session, we aren't chasing literary perfection. we are chasing honesty. we are looking for what is essential and yet invisible to the eye.

if you have ever felt disconnected from your own voice, or perhaps overwhelmed by the pace of the city, these exercises in writing might offer a place to rest. we use simple prompts—like tracing the shape of a tree or describing a familiar morning routine—to break down the fear of the blank page. you don't need to be a seasoned writer to find your own verse. you just need to be willing to look at the world, and yourself, with a little more curiosity.