Thoughts on Poetry

Translated…

The worst nightmares of the poet. Waking up one day, finding that all s/he’d ever written had become, nothing BUT clichés.

Then, discovering, that everybody else’s poetry also got, turned into, nothing more than clichés as well.

Inside oneself, from the heart, to the lips, everything that can be spoken about, that can be, written down, is nothing more than repetitions of what some other humans thought about or spoken aloud.

turning into R-O-B-O-T-S!!!

Just like how the digital cameras “liberated” photography, the normalcy of education, “freed” the literary creations, the online, the high-tech gadgets had, liberated the broadcasting and the replays. The other side of liberation, however, is the never-ending world of mediocrity. Becoming mediocre. With absolutely, NO personality whatsoever.

Becoming, this loop of the generation that can’t be interjected, or blocked off—from clichés, more, and more clichés were, born. The children, and their children, and their children, reproduced, generation after generation, after generations.

And the values that all of these formed: nothing more than clichés, and we’d used, clichés, to commend the clichés truthfully too.

So, this, is how trends worked, they take over the world bit by bit, slowly, until eventually, everything becomes, exactly identical, CLONES, and, because we all sought out normalcy, that, is why we’d slowly, become similar to one another, without knowing, that it’s our differences that’s made us special, unique, and what this world needs is, different people, with various ideas, and different interpretations on the same events.