Here’s an irreverent poem about poets, poems, deadlines, and rejections, by Dr Roopali, exclusively for Different Truths.
The sudden closing of Windows and doors. Lying quietly on the floor With naked fear lurking Underneath the door. Can it slip in? Could you pour some sanitiser? The hours are ticking away. The Internet is the only lifeline. Suffocating loneliness dispelled By strangers writing in the dark With just the bluish light. Somebody just like me Closeted somewhere Writing poems Full of angst. Deadlines are not for the living. Reams of poetry I am thrilled, stoked, excited I am doing cartwheels, I am translated into fifty languages I live in Alaska in an igloo You can read my poem in Tamil too. That poet from Kerala What's her name? They are reading about her. Monsoons and coconuts In Mongolia. That deadline was a Near-death experience. Sorry, we don't like your poem. You can try elsewhere. Can I please take it back? No way. We deleted it. It was disgusting, Cluttering up our site. We have a suggestion. You stop writing poetry. You don't have it in you. I reached for the sanitiser.
ha ha ha That was vivid, though no editor thankfully has been that vicious.