Where the journey gets its voice
Taran - ਸਫ਼ਰ
A poet is a keen observer, a reflective soul, and the voice of diverse beats. My poetry journey blossomed through circumstantial events, transforming ink into my defiant dance, eternal muse, and rejuvenating solace. I describe this growth and transformation in the poem "Saguaro," which reflects the inner and outer battles, the stagnation of being, and the relentless scorching heat of desires—finding solace in the arms of now, acknowledging love and grace are part and parcel of the play.
A poet is a soul that dissolves oppression through inhalation and liberates fear through exhalation—unscathed by claws of illusion, a poet relentlessly pursues the inner compass. The Needles of "Time" portray that choreography, a constant reminder for me and my ink to embrace the shine & shadows and rebel against stagnation. Unleash the self from constructed confines, finding freedom in this Garden of Eden.
Our relationship to clay is one of the most cardinal and visible; it speaks clearly through our magnificent physical appearance and subtle essence. This nectar-rich garden is the print of cosmic interconnectedness, a beautiful reminder that we are all part of a larger whole. Wherever the nectar is calling, I flow forward. The sweetness propels me to imbibe this cosmic muse of boom & bloom.
My so-called acts are more than menial labor; they are pathways of self-discovery, rekindling my connections with our elemental partners and trusting even the hardened clay in me will gracefully erode. I bring the bloom home in my upcoming collection, Lotus Hue:
Walking along the Bay Trail, I often ponder over our momentary time among the infinite cosmic prints. The breeze is vocal with the bliss of brine, and marsh is bountiful of play & prey. Gratitude grounds mounds in upheaval, and the tall order of now evaporates past and future, purging my quest for definitive answers.
Exploring the inner and outer world through impasses and detours, Poet Singh's journey is continuous from womb to grave. The absence of a destination is a pleasing motivation.
The labels of poet, garden bee, and cosmic wanderer are not a three-way split of me; they bring my end to a beginning,
Published Poetry - ਕਵਿਤਾ ਪ੍ਰਕਾਸ਼ਿਤ ਕੀਤੀ
Lotus Hue, Blooming in Fall
I need hunger—an urn to announce my freedom to burn in isolation, to outrun grip.
I must bend hardened steel, sip the final exit seize open breath & from hell, climb up.