The poet may have always lived in isolation. He marched within. Poetry is his way to get out of this world; That’s his way of staying connected with others. Living in another world, meeting different people, creating more space for this earth. Like someone is seeing dreams, not exactly but a little. A Parallel Universe. There is no lock on this world but the poet has the key. He gives the blessings which he does not even have. He goes, again and again, comes back. In all of this, you will see that he does not stay at this beautiful place, just travel there. A continuous journey; From the unknown to the unknown. The poet does not know that land all his life. Occasionally in poetry, a man goes backward. Brings a bit of soil for the seeds, brings a body for the aroma, sleeps for the dreams; Bringing hope to a human, secure place for the light.
you got to believe me that the poet does not write poetry only with language or words.
Poetry also protects a person from being just a number on in death statistics. You may find his way wrong, the person may be wrong; But what to do. Always remember that you are not just a figure for a poet.
Quarantine: We are going through a very much tough time of our time, I go in with a deep breath and reach home safely, stays there; I see the house, I get it in my arms by thinking that poetry is being written somewhere. I am safe somewhere in the poems of a mad poet.
One day you ask a poet where he goes,
His answer would be ‘i don’t know’.