To some it may seem like a curse-
In ancient times we spoke in verse,
For it was easy to recall,
More so than prose, which would fall
By the wayside, used and forgotten,
Quite briefly ripe and quickly rotten.
But verse rolled easily off the tongue,
Could be remembered, could be sung.
And bards could travel and preserve
Their knowledge in verse, full of verve.
With the coming of the printing press,
Verse took the back seat, I must confess.
The novel now took centre stage,
Print could preserve every page.
And novels could be very long,
But for emotions, verse was strong.
As long as human beings feel
Verse will have its own appeal.
For verse is rhythmic, verse is terse
And Aarti’s one who uses verse
When feelings have to be expressed
And her beliefs must be professed.
And you will find that she can feel
The deepest loss for her dog Steele,
The joy when lovers are united,
The ache when love is unrequited.
And in a world of love and hate
It is not long we have to wait
For death to saunter on the scene.
In different ways he’ll intervene.
The gory death of war’s exposed
A murderous father is opposed.
There is communal fratricide
A desperate lover’s suicide.
Can all of this be felt and seen
By Aarti who is just eighteen?
But Aarti started when just ten.
And has improved each year since then.
She lacks the skill to colour birds
But loves to paint the world in words.
And in the years to come she will
Gain much in wisdom and in skill.
She will continuously thrill
Us with the pages she will fill.
