I have never really been much of a poet. I wrote a few poems back when I was in school and I always thought that poems were supposed to be very abstract. That was until I took an Intro to Creative Writing course in college. I learnt in that course that it was best to focus on something specific while writing. It was amazing how some very specific objects or actions could mean so many different things to different people. That way, a very personal situation described in the most specific way could also be relatable to someone going through something else.
I was going through some of my college folders and came across this poem. This was the first piece that I wrote for that class. This final edition has come through after much deliberation with my professor and classmates.
I don't think I am good at writing poems nor do I write poems for fun. However, going through this poem now, it paints a different picture for me than it did a few years ago.
Here it goes:
The Way of the Buddhist
I kneel down on the floor fold my legs in to a sitting position. I bring my hands together so
they are mirror images
to each other.
My eyes trace around the room: the broken chair in the corner that Father never got to fixing, the stains on the carpet that changed from red to yellow which no amount of Resolve could get rid of.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes. The darkness surrounding me like a warm blanket on a winter night.
The rest of the world is a blur at least, for now.
With the mind cleared
of all distractions, I focus on my breathing:
in through the nose, out through the mouth,
in and out.
Only then do I bring myself to pray.
A few words out of the worn out prayer book. A few words to save
the living, the dead and everything in between.