"A poem begins with a lump in the throat, a home-sickness or a love-sickness." - Robert Frost
"Viyogi hoga pehla kavi, Aah Se Upja Hoga Gaan, Nikal Ker Nayanon Se ChupChap, Bahi Hogi Kavita Anjaan." - Sumitra Nandan Pant
I recall these lines every time I post something. So true, aren't they?
Every single time I have written a peace of poetry, it has been for the memories of loved ones, at the dissatisfaction of being at a place where I don't want to be, at the sadness of life, or due to some things or events which had bothered me beyond my emotional carrying capacity.
I know there are hasya ras (funny poetry) entries all over the place but they too come out mostly as sartorial musings.
So, does that mean that when I don't post on my blog is the happy time?
Well, at least in terms of poetry this does coincide with my blog entry data analysis.
Even today, this long pending entry has come up as a result of my coming face to face with harsh realities of life once more. I do not want to hurt the sentiments of the friend who confided in me but I am so torn inside that I can't help but pen my frustration down.
Dedicated to my friend, in hope that she doesn't read it ever...
Remember the last time the love lorn twosome looked out of the world in peace?
Remember their smiles and the Utopian indifference which seemed so beautifully quiet?
Today I glimpsed at their journey in its ugly truthful stride.
Today I saw the indecipherable and inexplicable darkness behind that elusive light.
I remember thinking about the incalculable wealth of cherished togetherness they had.
I remember feeling childishly envious of them at times when I was writing some of my old songs.
A couple of years down the line, the agnostic in me is craving the support of the blind faith.
A 'logic first, emotions later' part of me is entangled in the messed up rights and wrongs.
How I wish I could go back in time, knowing this future and tell them to stop!
How I wish I could meddle in, be thought of as a jerk, but still try to make things work.
Alas, this wishful thinking will only be a part of my day, my unwoven thread of imagination.
Alas, the thoughts which began as a lump in my throat would die in this composition's murk.
All I would do, is think about Robert Frost and Sumitra Nandan Pant and one of my friends.
All the way thanking them for giving me a way to let this lump subside through these words.
But neither this writing, nor the thinking will erase what got etched away in the stony heart.
But I wouldn't be able to do anything apart from staring nowhere pretending to look at the sky and birds!
Hope to get over with this soon...
-- Rachna
The existentialist in me believes that people are not together for each other even though they claim so, rather they are together because both of them feel good that way. and when they don't, or even if one of them doesn't leading to its infection in the other one, they part. So I just wish your friend had eventually a respite from the aftermath gloom. At such a time when nothing remains and has no possibility of restoration, that beautiful past finding an ever-lasting form in a poem is a real tribute to not just them but many people like them (almost half of the world :D)... the narrator (a third person)'s unbiased and hence obviously unaccusing, personal stance makes it lovely, how love adds beauty to the whole world... the first two lines are the most beautiful.. Do keep writing...
ReplyDeleteThanks! That helps me look at it in a totally different light.
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