Truth be told, humanity has never cared for poetry and metaphors! The best use of poetry, symbolism, and literary sentiments that humanity indulges in has traditionally been nostalgia and regret. Lamentation, tears, emotional recapitulations, and longing to sway the straight of the cosmic timeline to travel back in time – these are some of the concepts that might best be ascribed to the best uses of poetry for ordinary human beings. Sadly, but certainly, a promising genre of literature in poetry that began with pomp and a loud thud, a banger and an emphatic entry in the public domain with so many expectations, has been circumambulating the corridors of university classrooms and the decision war-rooms of the government-funded and apparently biased award bodies. From the actual public discourse of life, poetry, unfortunately, has vanished! Whatever residue is left has the silver touch of verse and aesthetic in the subconscious of the aged population from the bygone era!

I begin with this confession not to provoke despair but to initiate an honest conversation, one that poets often avoid. I have spent years reading, teaching, writing, and thinking about poetry, and the longer I stay with it, the clearer one uncomfortable truth becomes. Poetry has not been defeated by technology, capitalism, or shrinking attention spans alone. Poetry has been quietly abandoned by its own practitioners, or at least by a significant section of them, who have mistaken obscurity for seriousness and isolation for artistic purity.

Poetry, today, is struggling for its space. Poets are writing poems. Readers are not reading poems. Other poets are reading other poets’ poems. They seldom like or appreciate what others write. Poetry, therefore, has turned itself into an unresolving cycle of paradox!

As a poet and a teacher, I witness this paradox daily. Manuscripts arrive in abundance. Journals are flooded with submissions. Literary events are filled with familiar faces reciting to one another. Yet outside this self-referential circle, poetry barely registers as a choice when an ordinary reader decides to read. The contemporary reader reaches for novels, memoirs, essays, or even long-form journalism, but poetry remains an afterthought, if not an entirely forgotten option.

Why is poetry getting out of the minds of ordinary readers? Why don’t readers think of poetry when they decide to read something in their leisure? Why has this genre of literature, which once enjoyed unexcelled supremacy, become less appealing than novels and stories? These are some serious questions poets need to ask themselves and each other.

I ask these questions of myself first before directing them outward. The answers are uncomfortable because they demand accountability. It is easier to blame market forces, educational systems, or digital distractions than to examine our own poetic practices. Yet literature has always survived hostile conditions when it remained rooted in human experience. The decline of poetry’s readership, therefore, signals not the death of poetry but a failure of communication.

Historically, poetry did not require mediation. It was not guarded by institutions or validated by awards. In India, poetry thrived in oral traditions long before it entered classrooms. Kabir did not write for critics. He spoke to seekers, farmers, and householders. Tulsidas transformed the epic narrative into a living language accessible to the masses. Even in English literary history, Chaucer wrote for listeners, Shakespeare for theatre-goers, and Wordsworth for common readers who walked through fields and valleys. Poetry belonged to people because it spoke in a language they recognised as their own.

Has poetry become obscure? Have poets started indulging in excessive esotericism? Poetry, if it has too many layers, should at least lead readers to the openings of the caves the poet built with words and then let them explore on their own! If it does not happen, the travellers might return even without knocking at all!

This question strikes at the heart of the crisis. I do not argue against complexity. I argue against deliberate inaccessibility. When a poem demands prior theoretical training merely to enter its premises, it ceases to be an invitation and becomes a barricade. Depth lies not in how complex a poem is to understand, but in how profoundly it resonates once understood. Ghalib’s verses are layered with philosophical anguish, yet they remain alive because they speak in an idiom that allows entry. Emily Dickinson compressed metaphysical questions into deceptively simple lines. Their poetry rewards engagement without punishing curiosity.

The modern poet, however, often writes as if clarity is a compromise. In academic spaces, poems are sometimes crafted to impress evaluators rather than to communicate experience. The result is poetry that performs well in seminars but fails in solitude, where a reader seeks companionship, reflection, or quiet illumination. A poem that cannot survive outside explanation notes has already surrendered its independence.

Poets may need to rethink their strategy to make poetry accessible, appealing, and a relatable form of entertainment that can be perused and yet be more than a mere visual experience. Too obscure pain or too esoteric joy, both might alienate readers. It must be in between, where readers can walk with the poet and discover their stories in the narrative the poet weaves.

This is not a call to dilute poetry. It is a call to restore its balance. Poetry must remain intellectually honest, emotionally grounded, and linguistically attentive. When pain becomes so private that no reader can locate themselves within it, it loses its communicative power. When joy is wrapped in abstraction, it fails to inspire. Poetry thrives in that intermediate space where the personal meets the collective, where individual experience becomes a shared reflection.

One reason novels remain popular is their narrative generosity. They allow readers time to settle into worlds, characters, and conflicts. Poetry, by contrast, often demands immediate surrender without offering narrative continuity. This is not an inherent flaw of the genre but a consequence of poetic choices. Narrative poetry has existed across cultures precisely because human beings respond to stories. From the Mahabharata to Paradise Lost, poetry has thrived when it embraced narrative alongside lyricism.

Education has played a decisive role in distancing readers from poetry. Poetry is frequently introduced as an object of dissection rather than an experience of encounter. Students are trained to hunt for metaphors, symbols, and devices before they are allowed to feel the poem. This premature intellectualisation breeds anxiety rather than appreciation. When poetry becomes synonymous with examination stress, it is unsurprising that readers abandon it once formal education ends.

As a teacher, I have observed that students respond to poetry when it is read aloud, discussed openly, and connected to lived experience. A single poem by Robert Frost or Nissim Ezekiel, when approached without intimidation, can ignite curiosity and empathy. The problem lies not in the poem but in the pedagogical posture that treats poetry as an elite code rather than a human utterance.

The publishing ecosystem further reinforces poetry’s marginalisation. Poetry collections receive minimal marketing support. Reviews are scarce. Distribution is limited. Awards circulate within predictable networks, often rewarding stylistic conformity over genuine innovation. While recognition matters, poetry cannot survive on institutional validation alone. It survives when readers carry lines in memory, return to poems in moments of solitude, and find language for emotions they could not articulate.

Digital spaces offer both challenges and possibilities. Social media has popularised brief poetic expressions that resonate widely. While much of this content lacks formal rigour, it reveals an enduring appetite for poetic language. The task before serious poets is not to dismiss these platforms but to engage with them thoughtfully, bringing craft and depth without condescension.

Poetry must also reclaim its moral dimension. Historically, poets have served as witnesses to injustice, chroniclers of suffering, and voices of conscience. From Atal Bihari Vajpayee to W. B. Yeats, poetry has articulated political and ethical anxieties with lyrical force. When poetry withdraws entirely into private abstraction, it relinquishes this responsibility. Engagement with the world does not reduce art. It enlarges it.

I do not believe poetry is dying. I believe it is waiting to be spoken differently. The silence surrounding poetry is not emptiness but hesitation. Readers are not hostile to poetry. They are uncertain of being welcomed. The poet’s task, therefore, is not to lower standards but to open doors.

As poets, we must ask ourselves whether we write to be understood eventually or to be admired immediately. Whether our poems seek connection or confirmation. Whether we trust readers enough to meet them halfway. Poetry has always demanded effort, but it has also promised reward. That promise must be renewed.

If poetry is to return to public life, it must remember its origins. It must speak, sing, question, and console. It must risk clarity without fearing simplicity. It must acknowledge that literature does not exist to impress institutions but to engage human beings.

I remain committed to poetry because I believe in its potential to still the mind and awaken the conscience. The task before poets today is not to mourn poetry’s decline but to restore its relevance through honesty, humility, and courage. Poetry will survive not by retreating further into obscurity but by stepping back into the shared spaces of human experience, where it once belonged and where it is still needed.

Dr Alok Mishra

(Poet, Literary Critic and Professor of English Literature)

Thanks for reading!
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