by death of a person who was poet

Death of a poet is not exactly death of poem. Poem hardly dies synchronously with poet. Its existence is not exactly harmonious with poet. According to its form, it becomes part of poet’s life as a person or encapsulates poet’s life as its larger sphere of manifestation.
Poet expressing delicate and intriguing emotions often find death of his poem in culmination of his youth. Poem, being a very primitive expression, fails to capture dynamics of these human emotions, feelings and desires, and displays ephemeral but memorable play. It has peaks and troughs, each replacing previous rapidly, vividly and in unanticipated manner. It has temporal features and it undergoes evolution speedily. It is inseparable from poet’s surroundings and imbibes history and geography of poet into expressions. Love poems are essentially of these sorts. There are many other expressions, which poet makes as an experiencing individual, which eventually die when poet cease to be the person which he or she was while formation of that poem.
There is other and stronger form of poem and poet, which is collective expression of poet and people around him. This is larger than life form which poet doesn’t create, but finds somewhere in continuous struggle to converge life as an free spirited individual and deeply concerned social member. This form to have local historical and geographical features, but poem grasps them and relates to global references. This poem is joyous expression of extraordinary collective deeds, let out of frustration of declining moralities which poet perceives, call to fight against exploitations forced on some deprived group and a constant urge to see out of our self towards bigger and challenging understanding of humanity. Poet as a person ends, but such poem is passed like a baton to next generation. A thundering call of such vibrant expression, tiring through vagaries of time, keeps igniting consciences to enjoy life in irregular frameworks and put it to hard but unavoidable test of meaning.
Why such philosophical description of lively form of poem and poet? Yesterday, one famous Marathi poet died. He was versatile and epoch making poet. It is not about awards and acclaims he received, but sort of change he brought in perception of people towards contemporary issues and changing form of urban life. There were articles and photographs of him, memories fitted in nostalgic and legendary tones and many expressions of vacuums. Is it so? Who died yesterday? Poet or person who was poet once?
Being poet is not lifelong activity. Poems are those rare moments when one sees something beyond regular and normal happening of life. It is touch to a world which is limit to beauty that we can bring to life. We say ‘picturesque’, but hardly ‘poemesque’. This rare gift comes as dreams that one sees. Dreams change as we go on living. From kissing uncertainties, dreams come to some bare truths as we move in life. Can poem be found in such limited edition?
Poem is short but intense life form. It dies much sooner that person who puts it into existence dies. What remains thereafter is some contradictory effort of that person to establish school of his ‘poetic’ philosophy. Poem laughs silently at such in vain efforts and comes to life through some other mind which starts journey of madness and walks roads not yet formed. Poem is companion of such journeys, not of holiday trip with family and friends.

Aha, poem...