"To Write a Poem from Inside a Poem"

In an attempt to make people feel more at home, everyone chooses a place to live for the rest of their lives. I chose poem.

The next thing I was looking at were trees growing downwards with their roots in the air as if it was the way of the earth to sing its silly love song to the sky: loud and chin up. The moon is pulled by the ocean when marine creatures make love. 

Weapons turn into wildflowers in the hands of a troublemonger. Guillotines never seem to fall in a dictator's reign. The bullet leaves the gun but never touches a soul. Gravity works in funny ways around here.

In the poem's world, every house bears a clock with hands to hold and walls with ears to listen which is to say loneliness is only a third-world language here, no one remembers the syllables anymore.

Here, the heart is a 2 BHK apartment where light tap dances into every room through the ribcage's skylight. The brain is not an overworked employee that forgets where the car keys are or worse: turns into a broken radio that plays the same record over and over. 

Living in this poem is like being offered a box full of tissues by a stranger while crying uncontrollably at a party. What I mean to say is, here people throw little packets of tenderness in the balconies like early morning newspapers and eat away grudges with their breakfast cereal before starting the day. forgiveness is the name of a fruit that grows on its own in everyone's backyards.

Living in this poem is unlearning the textbooks from your high school to look at how trigonometry says that no phase is constant, everything is a sine wave, that the pain will ease away. This poem will tell you how it rains diamonds on Jupiter. how Buzz Aldrin peed his pants as soon as he set foot on the moon. how I love the moon despite the fact that there's pee on the moon or how my mother would've loved living inside this poem despite of knowing who created it. Would she?

And that is why I am writing a poem for you from inside this poem, carefully weaved out of all the answers. so if you ever feel like the weight of questions is making you fall to the floor, let this poem hold you, sit with you, sip a cup of tea with you even when you are not ready to hear the answers, even then.

-S.