Why do we write poetry? What is it about this form of writing - this form of expressing oneself - that makes one take it up? These are a few questions that have always riddled me and continue to do so even today. Maybe a few questions are best left unanswered. As a year discards its old clothes and prepares to wear a fresh set - how far will poetry go to embroider itself onto these clothes? Whether in doing so it will tear it to shreds or patch up the torn bits is for us to wait and watch...