#NaPoWriMo Day 1: As Soulless As You.

It’s the beginning of yet another scorchingly hot April, and yet, the only thing that I am extremely excited about is the fact that I get to channel my thoughts into poetry again. No matter how many times I have promised myself to get back to writing since last April, I haven’t been able to do so because there was not much that motivated me to discipline myself, the way I used to back when I wrote every single day for a thousand days.

Adulthood has a way of draining the whimsy out of you, but at the same time, I am able to tell myself that keeping the whimsy alive is so important, now more than ever. That is a part of people that needs to be kept alive because without whimsy, we really don’t have much to look forward to in life. Nothing has any soul left. Nothing has any emotion left. As I sit and type this out, I am glad these words come so easily to me. It should only mean that the part of myself that lay dormant for a whole year is truly alive and well, right? If only, a little rusty.

Speaking of soul and whimsy, though, let’s talk about the prompt for Day 1 via napowrimo.net! We had been advised to go through a truly beautiful online exhibit from the Getty Museum. It’s the Florentine Codex, which is an encyclopedia from the 16th century. We have also been given the option to go through a glossary of musical terms or a glossary of art terminology and choose a word we’re unfamiliar with to write about.

Now, even though I am not sticking to the prompt today, my poem is closely related to it on some level. I highly suggest people take a minute to go through the sites I’ve linked as resources for the day’s prompt. Given the rise in the number of people using AI to belt out soulless and empty art that is devoid of any and all hard work, my poetry is going to be exactly about that, and why it’s a problem.

I’d been thinking of this for a couple of days, and I simply had to write about it. So many of my friends and I who work in creative fields have been told that we’ll lose our jobs soon because AI can always do what we do, much better. But here’s the thing, no amount of AI-generated slop is going to have the same kind of whimsy or soul that is exclusive to human-made art. It will never hold the same charm because there wasn’t a person pouring their emotions and hard work into their art. If you ask me, I am as proud as ever that every work of mine is 100% written/ painted/ made by me, and even if it is full of flaws, at least it’s a reflection of my soul.

Anyway, enough of my yapping! Here’s the poem for today! Hope you like it.

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I picked up my chisel at five,
Rosy skin and tender hands carved away,
By ten, I had callouses and scrapes,
And scars so deep you couldn’t erase.
At fifteen, a window flung open,
So wide, you could feel the breeze,
I pored out at the sky and the stars,
And they would gaze right back at me.

I picked up a pen at six,
And at seven, a paint-stained brush,
At eight, I’d coloured my world so bright,
By nine, they said I had an artistic touch.
The chisel I’d once picked up at five
Now lay aside, weathered and dull,
I’d carved so many facets of myself–
A diamond, not yet polished, but bright enough.

I picked up colours like fruits and flowers so fresh,
By eleven, I’d made a bouquet
Out of everything that shaped me the way I was,
And more that would come my way.
By eighteen, I’d bared my soul to the world,
In pictures and words I didn’t know lived within,
By twenty my pen was sharper than ever,
By twenty-two, my canvases all but filled.

You never picked up a chisel at five,
Nor felt the paint beneath your fingernails,
Never had ink stain your clothes,
Nor did you ever have a soul to bare.
What you call an imitation of the greats,
Pales to nothing in the light they held,
Your thoughts remain shallow and tepid,
Devoid of any passion, whimsy, or depth.

I picked up my chisel at five,
I’ve carved myself through the years,
In the image of those who came before,
A testament to the art they held dear.
And you, with your unmarred hands,
Free of the weight of hardened work and truth,
You call yourself a creator, a master–
But those words aren’t for one as soulless as you.

~© Shubhangi Srinivasan.

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Hey, guys! It’s been a while since I last wrote here. I hope it hasn’t been awfully long for people to completely forget about me. In any case, if you’re new here, hello! It’s so nice to meet you. And if you’ve been following my work in the last 8-ish years, welcome back! If you liked my post, do let me know in the comments, and share it ahead if you think it deserves to be read by others, too! I’d love to hear from you guys. 

Until tomorrow, for now!
Cheerio! Xx

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Featured Image by Adrien Converse on Unsplash