Poem

A poem is not a long thing made short. It is a small thing made dense. The smallest poem worth writing is five lines, and even five lines is plenty. The Urdu tradition has been compressing meaning for centuries. Mir Taqi Mir said in two lines what other writers needed two pages for. Ghalib could fit a whole worldview into one couplet. You will not write like Mir today. But you will use the same engine they used, which is a structure that holds the words in place.

Try this five line structure. Line one, an image you actually saw. Line two, another image you actually saw, near the first one. Line three, a feeling, only one word or one phrase. Line four, a question. Line five, a final image that answers the question without saying so. Like this. The lemon tree dropped one fruit. The crow watched from the wire. Tired. Why does the crow stay. The lemon roll across the gali, slow. Five lines. Two pictures, one feeling, one question, one picture again.

Three rules for the first poem. First, no big words. Use the words your grandmother would use at the dining table. Chai, gali, dhoop, paaon, ankhein. Big words make small poems sound borrowed. Second, do not explain. The poem is not a lecture. If you say tired, do not also say I have not slept. The reader fills the gap. The reader is your partner, not your student. Third, read it aloud once, slowly. If a line stumbles in your mouth, fix it. A poem is built for the ear before the eye.