DIVYA

Dear Visitor,
Poetry is the indulged child of literature. Allowed its whims, fancies, midnight picnics in outrageous pajamas and out of turn words. No wonder, the child is a creative genius, profuse as Medusa's curls, for it was reared not knowing any limits and bounds. It begins and ends where it pleases, reveling in its own briefness. It's known for sprouting in cesspits, skipping merrily on sharp, cobbled roads, laughing in funerals, weeping in sheer mirth, spitting in Cyclop's eye, not caring for order, nor respecting rules. A true poem is a stunning butterfly with lopsided wings and blotches of words that don't add up yet make perfect sense to the soul, revealing secret messages long etched inside, in invisible ink. Poetry goes many levels deeper than most other forms of literature. Skimming the higher floors, it descends straight to the basement, hitting the gut with the mallet of a few choice words, delivering the punch of something read for the first time, but deep within, always known. And lastly, poetry never dies. It keeps shedding old garb, changing its course with the ages, as a river, rolling, rushing, sometimes waning yet never drying for it springs from an eternal human source.

Many thanks for looking in. My poetry is available on Kindle:


Queen Of The Squares: A Poetry Book Every Thinking Woman Should Read https://amzn.eu/d/jlUWRyh



Notes To A Lover https://amzn.eu/d/55l2mlI


Imploding... https://amzn.eu/d/1Yn3gFC


The Rumi In Me https://amzn.eu/d/bG3CPM3



https://amzn.eu/d/jlUWRyh
https://amzn.eu/d/55l2mlI
https://amzn.eu/d/1Yn3gFC
https://amzn.eu/d/bG3CPM3