In Search of a Poet

A Strange Beginning

Riyad had always been... different.

While the other boys played cricket in the fields, Riyad would sit under a tree with a notebook and a pen. Without saying a word, he would write—odd phrases, messy verses, and questions too big for his age.

His classmates teased him, “There goes the crazy poet again!”

But Riyad would smile and say, “I paint pictures with words.”

Back then, nobody understood what he meant.

Falling in Love with Poetry

From grade nine, poetry became Riyad’s true companion. His favorite poet was Jibanananda Das. Sometimes, he'd walk along rice fields reciting his lines aloud—

“I am a weary soul, drowned in the foamy ocean of life…”

His mother often said, “Poetry won’t feed you, son. Without a government job, you’re nothing in this world.”

But Riyad knew: his soul lived through poetry. That was enough.

Failure and Frustration

At university, Riyad joined the Literature Society. He took part in contests, recited poems at events, and slowly became known on campus. Some even told him, “You’re going to be famous one day.”

But the real world wasn’t so kind.

He sent poems to newspapers—only to receive cold rejections.

One editor wrote: “Your poem is not suitable for publication at this time. Best wishes.”

Even after dozens of such replies, Riyad never gave up. Poetry, to him, was not a hobby. It was his belief. His battle. His form of prayer.

When Words Became Protest

One day, a friend asked, “Can poetry change anything? Society? People?”

Riyad replied, “Poetry may not fight wars—but it can stop one. When bullets become background noise, the silence of poetry screams louder.”

From then on, his writing changed. He wrote about injustice, corruption, violence, and the struggles of the unheard. His words found their way into school magazines, online journals, and even the hands of strangers.

Yet financially, he remained empty. No job, no income—just tutoring to survive. But at night, he wrote like his life depended on it.

The Breaking Point

Then came the hardest blow.

His mother fell seriously ill. The doctor said her liver needed expensive treatment.

Riyad sat still, holding a notebook in his lap, but unable to write a word.

A line from one of his old poems echoed in his mind:

“When my mother falls ill,

Can I write poetry and turn it into medicine?”

That night, for the first time, he wondered—

Does poetry even matter?

Poetry Returns

But can a poet truly abandon poetry?

One rainy night, Riyad sat on the rooftop, listening to raindrops tap against metal sheets. Each drop, each beat, felt like a lost stanza returning home.

He closed his eyes and wrote:

“This life, wrapped in sorrow,

Hides a hundred colors beneath.

I am a poet—my words are a shield,

I fight not with swords, but with truth.”

And just like that, he was whole again.

Poetry Returns

But can a poet truly abandon poetry?

One rainy night, Riyad sat on the rooftop, listening to raindrops tap against metal sheets. Each drop, each beat, felt like a lost stanza returning home.

He closed his eyes and wrote:

“This life, wrapped in sorrow,

Hides a hundred colors beneath.

I am a poet—my words are a shield,

I fight not with swords, but with truth.”

And just like that, he was whole again.

The Poet’s Role in Society

Riyad now holds workshops in schools and colleges, teaching young minds the power of words.

He tells them,

“Being a poet doesn’t mean writing only about love or the moon. A true poet echoes pain, asks questions, and reflects a generation’s silent screams.”

He’s not on TV. Not in bestseller lists.

But when someone says, “Your poem made me cry,” he knows he’s done something right.

Epilogue: The Poet’s Worth

Riyad is still not a household name. He may never win awards or earn riches.

But poetry gave him purpose, healing, and meaning.

And that—was more than enough.