The Language That Found Me

Noticing what calls me forward

Photo by Anna Hecker on Unsplash

I’ve written a lot of poems. It’s the one thing that has been there in my life, even when I didn’t know it was there. I wrote my first poem when I was in 6th grade.

Ever since that day, I would secretly scribble poems in my books—things that made sense to me. It was a language that felt effortless for expressing my thoughts. And the added bonus—I didn’t have to explain it to anyone. Poetry can be interpreted in any way the reader feels appropriate. I was free.

Poetry is a language I learned to use without knowing that I was learning it or using it. It was like breathing to me—something that just happened because I was alive. And the reverse is also true. Poetry helps me breathe. I’m not exaggerating.

There are times when I read a random poem from a random book and find my worries drifting away. Writing it, reading it, immersing myself in it—poetry helps me breathe freely. I feel lighter, liberated in a way that’s hard to explain.

And yes, I’ve written plenty of poems over the years. I’ve been wanting to publish another book of my poems. When this year started, that’s a promise I made to myself.

This month, I’m looking forward to bringing those poems together for the book—gathering the words that have quietly stayed with me all these years.

Maybe this is what it means to notice what’s opening, what’s lightening, and what’s calling me forward. Poetry has always been there, waiting patiently—like a door I’ve walked past many times before. This time, I’m choosing to step through it.

And perhaps, on the other side of that door, more poems are waiting for me.

© Vinitha Dileep

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This piece is written in response to Write Bravely - March prompt.

“Noticing what’s opening, lightening, and calling you forward.”

Thank you, Corinne Rodrigues.