Next time you are in a creative slump, try going to the gym, working out at home, or going for a brisk walk....
Poems forever
Walt Whitman was fascinated with the mind-body connection.
In an entry from the winter of 1877, still recovering from the paralytic stroke that had left him severely disabled five years earlier, the sixty-six-year-old poet describes his workout in the gymnasium of the wilderness:
“A solitary and pleasant sundown hour at the pond, exercising arms, chest, my whole body, by a tough oak sapling thick as my wrist, twelve feet high—pulling and pushing, inspiring the good air. After I wrestle with the tree awhile, I can feel its young sap and virtue welling up out of the ground and tingling through me from crown to toe, like health’s wine. Then for addition and variety, I launch forth in my vocalism; shout declamatory pieces, sentiments, sorrow, anger, &c., from the stock poets or plays — or inflate my lungs and sing the wild tunes and refrains I heard of the blacks down south, or patriotic songs I learn’d in the army. I make the echoes ring, I tell you!”
Next time you are in a creative slump, try going to the gym, working out at home, or going for a brisk walk.
By Fatima Tuz Zahra
In the heart of the forest,
Among the huge trees,
In the small room of the wooden house,
On a rainy night,
Sitting behind the window,
On the chair,
With a book closed in my hand,
Looking outside,
Trying to imagine,
What was happening.
Leaves rustled,
A voice uttered,
Just for a while,
Thunder from the sky,
Lightens the things,
In the surroundings,
Loneliness with me,
Silent was she....
No signs of life,
On that stormy night,
That destructive storm,
Stole the charms,
Dead silence all around,
Not a word or a sound,
The deep noise of the falling rain,
Something hard on the bleeding pain...
Among all the noise,
I heard a voice,
A call for me,
Heard clearly,
But
Of no use,
As I slept,
Leaving behind the rainy storm,
The peace and the sudden calm....
By Zeba Aziz
I feel as if,
I belong to none,
I feel as if,
I am no one.
Why is it so?
I am surrounded
By many,
Yet, I question,
If there is any.
The stars of mine,
Twinkle no more.
The moon of mine,
Shines no more.
The sun of mine,
Is hidden somewhere.
The shadow of mine,
Is gone somewhere.
The visible me,
Is visible to none.
The soul of mine,
Is lost somewhere.
The weather here is,
Autumn all around.
The spring of mine,
Is nowhere to be found.
I feel as if,
I am a worthless
Burden.
I feel as if,
I am nothing;
To none.
Compiled by SK
