It’s like asking me why I breathe. It’s something inborn. Like the instincts. I write because it feeds my soul. It keeps it living. My pen speaks all my heart wants to pour out. I started writing poems when I was in class III. I always felt that my pen loses all the friction when it interacts with the paper. Later in my teens, I started reading poetry in Urdu, Kashmiri and English. I realized poetry is the mirror of all the emotions a human can feel. So, I tried to portray all my feelings through my poem. I started to play with words. Started loving them and arranging them in all possible fashions so that they could echo the tune of my soul.
The cascade of time brought to me variety of spices of life. And I could feel fingers moving in all directions to paint the paper with the ink. I have read the work of some of the best English poets and writers- William Wordsworth, John Keats, Robert Frost, Shakespeare, but if I account I love the poetry by the Urdu and Kashmiri writers like Daag, Rehman Rahi, Mirza Ghalib, Sir Muhammad Iqbal, Jigar Muradabadi, Akbar Allaahbadi, Faiz Ahmad Faiz, Rasool Mir, Sheikh Noor ud Din (RA).
I have read the transliterations and translations of Maulana Rumi (RA)’s books and poems. So somewhere in my poems, I feel they radiate out little much of the mentioned poets. I believe a poem should be lucid and fluid so that it does not drag down the reader. Above all I feel when I write I write for myself. I flow with my words. I drench in the feel of my own words. I crisscross the nest of intricate words. I will not say I am some great writer but I treasure everything I write, even when it is in the making. I know what words cost.
So to sum up, why do I write poems in words would be asking the river why it flows, asking the sun why it glows, asking the flowers why they bloom, and asking the eclipse why it glooms. I didn’t mean to build up a poem it just got on letting up. It’s spontaneous. It’s what I have in me. Knit in my soul.