It is not enough to have oil or wick, fire is also needed

- Poetry of the Internet - Anil Chavda

In space, some giant objects collided, the big bang occurred and the universe was created. The universe of poetry is also created by such an inner explosion.

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Take the light in the basket,

Roads will be made through water.

- Manoj Khanderia

From what energy does poetry emerge? What is the power that compels the poet to delve into words? What is the light that marks the way for the scholar to tread the path of penance? What is the experience that prompts a poet to create poetry? Answers to such questions vary from person to person. Poetry is an anointing of the energy of the heart. And this anointing is done with tears. The poem delves into Aykha's orsia. When the shelter of senses is blown, the ragini of the heart is broken, the melody is poured in the breath, the tears rise in the eyes, the spring of feelings bursts from within, automatically the saffron of poetry starts to knead.

Manoj Khanderia's share given in the login relates the situation of Vasudeva going to place Krishna in Gokul with life. Vasudeva took the light named Krishna in a basket and automatically made a path through the water. Even in difficult difficulties of life, if we go out with our own strength, we will find a way even in dire situations. There is something similar in poetry. If one's own brightness is glowing within, the energy within will automatically lead to the pen. Poetic activity is a combination of brightness and moisture. Chinu Modi wrote,

This is the reason for writing this ghazal.

There is still moisture in the corner of the eye.

An English poet said, as easily as a tree sprouts its leaves, so should a poet sprout its words. Inner energy is very necessary for such spontaneity. It is not enough to have oil or wick in Kodia. It also needs fire to light it. Anil Joshi has even said, 'I enter words like Sitaji in fire.'

If there is no fire, the garden of poetry will seem artificial. Many forests are more lush than gardens. Nature flourishes with art. The garden is very beautiful, but it smells artificial. Flowers, plants and trees are afraid to bloom as if banned from blooming. The trees are cut to size to enhance the beauty. It feels as if restrictions have been imposed on the growth of greenery. Instead of making clothes according to the body, it seems that the clothes are made according to the body. There is as much difference between the students sitting in the classroom of a Khadus teacher and the students playing muktam in the field as there is in the garden and the forest.

This does not mean that the garden is bad. The garden also has beautiful trees, ponds, flowers, birds, hummingbirds, greenery and peace. We enjoy it. There is also fun. Its artificiality does not bother us, because we are used to it. We have become artificial ourselves. Everything there is created, arranged, not arranged according to our will and as we like to see.

The forest will flourish in its own way. The birds, the trees, the greenery, the springs, the chirping, everything is there naturally and automatically, nothing arranged, arranged by itself. The energy of poetry is like a forest and a garden. A garden is good only as long as it is maintained, fertilized and cared for. The forest itself is a game in itself. Barrenness and greenness coexist in it. Both coarseness and softness develop side by side. Poetry doesn't have to be just about joy, it has to be about shock too. Not everything in poetry is to be liked. Sometimes he can cry loudly, sometimes he laughs 'pokepoke'.

The story ends and the AC ends.

That people started crying while clapping.

People cry and even enjoy crying. This may sound strange. But this is too much of poetry. Narasimharao Diwetia wrote, 'This instrument is a special treat.' The energy of poetry lies in its pain. Its roots are watered with the water of sadness. Poetry is a forest. Where the thought that grows in the heart of the poet blossoms freely. Sometimes the tree of that thought grows abundantly green and sometimes it spreads barrenness. Pain and lack are born of poetry. In the light of joy and sorrow, the rangoli of poetry is complete. When a volcano erupts inside, channel it into the stream of words and that energy will be transformed into beautiful poetry.

Centuries ago, some giant objects collided in space, causing a big bang, releasing infinite energy. Various planets were formed. The universe was created. The universe of poetry is also created by such an inner explosion. Sometimes poetry is born in the fountain of light and joy, sometimes it takes shape sitting in the darkness of sadness and at the foot of pain. Mariz has written a beautiful share about what it takes to be immersed in poetry.

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The blood of the heart, the fountain of eyes, the juice of life,

If it is mixed, the ghazals come with a strange matter.

- Illness