This Is Not a Poem By Manisha Manhas

Jul 29 2018 4.00


This isn't a poem

if it has not been clawed upon

by the edges of your bleeding heart.

Not a poem if it has not filtered blood from your heart's lane

to ink words on paper.


Not a poem if

it has not unleashed the

constellation's pattern 

or the songs of raging colours

that dance across the mute sky.


This isn't a poem if it hasn't

recorded the jostling of sparrows for a space in a tree's hole, or the 

many plays which the tiny, little squirrel plays with them.


This isn't a poem if it hasn't

freed the djinns of your past from the rubble of a ravaged  town.

This isn't a poem if it hasn't been stitched from the tapestry of stars to sing along the bridal moon.


This isn't a poem if its wings 

are not mated by the tides of night 

This isn't a poem if it doesn't echo the flappings of a child's heart,

shutting and opening to the order of sleeping in noon or 

the moans of those numerous bees whose lullabies pour a tear into the eyes of a sleeping infant.


This isn't a poem, of course, if its cadence doesn't match up to the pouring of rain over the parched courtyard of your house or the sound of those waves splashing in a sea.


Not a poem at all if it's rise and fall

does not meet the patterns of a heartbeat recorded by a cardiograph.



About the Author

Manisha Manhas was a student of English  literature at Guru Nanak Dev University, Amritsar. She is an English teacher with Punjab education board and moonlights as a poet. Her poems have previously been published in various national and international journals including many e zines. To her, poetry is her life force quite similar to blood flowing in her veins.