Poetry is my only gateway to lucid dreaming.
Through it, I have dwelled as a fairy, a wizard, a knight, even a dragon; wandered among gods; traversed realms on the backs of yalis. All of it summoned from wherever I am, with nothing but a paper and pen.
But poetry doesn't only carry me outward. It turns me inward too, into the unexplored dimensions of my love, lust, ego, passion, devotion and madness. The territories within are as wild as any realm beyond.
Poetry: the true illusion that keeps me alive in a dead society of Muggles.
And sometimes I wonder, did poets choose poetry as their escape from reality? Or did reality itself push them into poetry, away from this polluted Muggle world, to preserve something sacred?
Neither the Muggles nor the poets lose sleep over that question.
But I do.
— SCD Balaji
