Over the years, I’ve often asked myself: should I go back and revise my old poems? The question lingers, especially when I consider how much I’ve learned and how differently I perceive the world now compared to when I first penned those lines. But the answer is always the same: no.
On a staircase made of clouds
Each poem is a step
To a higher place in me
Like working my bicep
Not dense enough to bear all weight
Every one lifts the soul
On a journey of discovery
With an effervescent goal
My poems, as they stand, are like steps leading to a higher place I’ve yet to reach. Each poem, in isolation, might seem small or insignificant, but together, they form a path—a chronicle of my journey. They are more than just words on a page; they are marks on a map, each one representing a stage in my life, a moment of understanding, or even a moment of naivety.
Changing them now would be like erasing the footsteps I’ve left behind. It would alter the path, not just for me but for anyone who might come after. There’s a certain solidarity in knowing that others might find their own way by following these steps, just as they are. It’s about sharing the journey with all its imperfections and lessons. I ensure that I’m not a lone traveller by leaving my poems untouched. I want to walk alongside others and share the joy and the discovery.
Resisting the urge to revise these poems is, in a way, a commitment to authenticity. It’s a recognition that who I was then is still a part of who I am now. Those poems may reflect a naïve understanding, but they also capture my younger self’s raw, unfiltered emotions. They remind me of where I’ve been and how far I’ve come.
In leaving them as they are, I honour the growth process—both my own and that of anyone who might find solace or inspiration in my words. My poems are not perfect, nor are they meant to be. They are simply a record of my journey, and as such, they remain untouched.
You can read more of my poems here.
Image above is Clouds to Olympus, multiple exposure, 2023