Megha Sood is an avid reader, loves to sing, an ardent lover of poetry and sometimes can scribble few lines too. She has worked in the IT field for almost a decade as a manager, worked crazy hours and traveled around the world. She is also a contributing author at GoDogGO Cafe,Whisper and the Roar and Poets Corner.

Her works have been featured in GoDogGoCafe, Whisper and the Roar, Duane Poetree, Visual Verse, Poets Corner, Modern poetry, Spillwords,Indian periodicals and soon to be featured in Literary heist,Morality park, Poets head and many more.

You can find her work at meghasworldsite.wordpress.com

How it started:

This is my first time taking part in NaPOWriMo as I started writing poetry last September.
Being on the author panel of few literary collectives, I was already aware of April being the National Poetry Month and I decided to roll out an anthology about the “Sexual Exploitation of Women”on my personal blog .While researching about the National poetry Month I came to know about the #NaPoWriMo started by Maureen Thompson and searched further and came to know about the prompts released by http://www.napowrimo.net/about/ for every 30 days of April.

It was fun and inspiring to read the works of fellow bloggers everyday and I got inspired in the process which showed in my writings. My following poem reflects the struggle and the pain a poet go through while creating the little bits of creativity and what goes around in his mind.

We are poets

“Poets are shameless with their experiences: they exploit them.”
― Friedrich Nietzsche

We all are trying to touch the bottom of the madness
the absolute end
to visualize how
far we can stretch our insanity
and how much it can
take the pressure and survive
till it breaks down and
shatters into small bits of
craziness and false identity
We all are trying to get to this bottomless pit
scraping and digging our way down
building our own graves
like a scared mouse,
clutching its way down
blinding running away from the reality
We are all trying to
get to the end of this abyss
the pandemonium
to save our souls
living in the dreadful reality
We let our parched quill
scratch and pull at the scabs
to feel the essence of words
buried deep in our psyche
We let it soak in the crimson blood
of our proverbial existence
running deep in our fecund veins
mocking our mortality
We are poets,
We all are trying to
touch the bottom of the
madness,
one which gives
voice to our deep
soliloquy
We are poets,
an epitome of insanity.

Photo by Matthew LeJune on Unsplash