Prosenjit Chatterjee
“A thing of beauty is a joy forever: Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness...”
— John Keats
Poetry—an eternal melody woven with words, a silent whisper that speaks the loudest, a river of emotions flowing through the ink of time. In a world driven by speed, technology, and artificial intelligence, poetry remains the last refuge of the soul—a space where emotions breathe, where hearts find solace, and where memories turn into timeless verses.
On March 21, World Poetry Day, we do not merely celebrate poetry; we celebrate the very essence of human existence—the joy, the sorrow, the love, and the pain that words dare to capture.
A journey through time: Poetry as the mirror of humanity
From the sacred hymns of the Vedas to the romantic sonnets of Shakespeare, from the revolutionary verses of Kazi Nazrul Islam to the heart-wrenching melancholy of Jibanananda Das—poetry has always been a reflection of life itself. It has ignited revolutions, healed wounded hearts, and kept alive the essence of civilizations. The words of Rabindranath Tagore, flowing like the gentle waves of the Ganges, still resonate in every heart—
“Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high,
Where knowledge is free...”
But how can we forget the gems of Assamese poetry? Jyoti Prasad Agarwala, the harbinger of modern Assamese literature, wove magic with words, blending poetry with music and drama. Bishnu Prasad Rabha, the ‘rebel poet,’ used his verses to awaken the masses, while Hemanga Biswas poured the struggles of common people into his lines. And then, there was Nirmal Prabha Bordoloi, whose words captured the soul of Assam, its lush greenery, its deep rivers, and its aching sorrows. Even today, the melancholic verses of Hiren Bhattacharyya, the ‘People’s Poet,’ continue to tug at our hearts.
Poetry has never been just a play of rhymes; it has been the voice of the unheard, the pain of the oppressed, the dream of the dreamers. Even today, when wars rage, hearts break, and souls long for peace, poetry remains the lighthouse in the storm.
The dying passion: Why is poetry fading among the youth?
Yet, amidst this celebration, a heartbreaking truth lingers—the fading love for poetry among the young generation. The world has changed. Once, verses were whispered in moonlit nights, lovers exchanged handwritten sonnets, and revolutionaries found courage in stanzas. But today, the digital age has chained young minds to endless scrolling, fleeting reels, and short-lived trends. The patience to read, to feel, to absorb the depth of poetry is vanishing.
But can poetry ever truly die?
No. It only needs to be rediscovered.
We must bring poetry into their world, not as old-fashioned literature but as the very rhythm of life.
Music, cinema, storytelling—all are deeply connected to poetry. Schools should reintroduce poetry beyond textbooks, letting students feel its magic through performances, poetry slams, and creative expression. Parents should recite bedtime verses instead of playing a screen lullaby. Social media, often blamed for distraction, can be a savior too—spreading poetic lines as Instagram captions, short video recitations, and viral poetic challenges.
If only they pause for a moment, they will realize poetry has always been there. In every song they hum, in every emotion they struggle to express, in every dream that feels too fragile to say out loud.
Poetry is not just words. It is life itself, wrapped in metaphors and woven with emotions. It is the cry of a lonely heart, the smile of a hopeful dawn, the sigh of an unfulfilled love. It is the echo of time, the fragrance of memories, the touch of an unseen hand.
The eternal symphony: A promise to poetry
On this World Poetry Day, let us pause—just for a moment. Let us listen—not to the chaos of the world, not to the endless notifications on our screens, but to the whispers of poetry that still breathe within us. Let us close our eyes and feel—feel the verses that once made us dream, the lines that once healed our wounds, the words that once gave us courage when the world felt too heavy.
Poetry is not dying. We are the ones drifting away.
But poetry waits for us, patiently, like an old friend standing at the crossroads of memory. It does not beg for attention; it does not demand to be heard. Yet, when we finally return to it, we realize—it had never left.
Let us not betray poetry by letting it fade into forgotten pages. Let us resurrect it, celebrate it, embrace it. Let us write verses on the walls of time, recite them under the open sky, whisper them to the wind, and pass them on like a treasured legacy.
Because as long as poetry exists, the human soul shall never be lost.
And so, as Shelley once wrote—
“Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world.”
If poetry still beats within our hearts, let us not remain silent. Let us sing, let us weep, let us dream—through poetry, for poetry, with poetry.
For in every unspoken emotion, in every untold story, in every heartbeat that longs to be heard—poetry lives on.