I thought someday someone would ask me about Poems India, and all the fancy words i’ve ever rolled on my tongue would walk out of my mouth, but at home, you only speak the language of belongingness, all the richness of your heart is broken down to coined tingling of honesty, only raw truth and naked love.
Amidst all the grays of the pandemic, Poems India’s Instagram page beamed like melted crayons of hope. It reached to me when all I knew was how to curl into myself, far from the fingers of the world. It accepted my silence as much as it did my words. It was like a stroll in the garden, you don’t walk a garden only because of the trees and the flowers, it’s the grass beneath your feet that holds you without you ever needing to ask- this is how I felt while scrolling through their feed.
As someone who writes, you are hungry to be read, to know that someone believes in the tangle of your thoughts, that someone sees you behind it. Poems India was that someone, with every piece that didn’t get selected came a major motivation to express myself better, to align my thoughts, to integrate my feelings, to wither myself to words. With every selected piece came a boundless reaffirmation of my belief in myself, in my art. Poems India is the bridge between art and its artist, i will never get tired of walking upon.
Poems India has been the thread holding so many artists together and making it look so effortless that we seldom care to look behind, all the deadlines and the sweaty foreheads and overworked nights seem to dissipate into the background, but we see it, we see it all. Reading, curating, editing, posting thousands and thousands of poems and going to sleep with a smile from a comment that reads ‘thank you for everything’ and waking up to do it all over again. How do you even bow before people who never showed their faces, only their work and passion?
You’ve made poetry reach into corners and tempted them to unfold and birth new writers, poetry that was smudged and hidden between arithmetic notebooks is now out for the world to celebrate and writers who were only their names are now their art. You’ve made wonders happen every step of the way, and we have nothing to give you in turn except what we create because, all that we ever melted into our creations belongs in this home, our home.
‘Thank you for everything’ <3
– Resham Sharma