I am watching the rains in evening. I look up and see a
beautifully unique sky. Half of the sky, the part which spans over my head, is
smeared with clouds that are draining down and the distant half of it is
moonlit with the white full moon so prominent and distinct on the mundane
heavens that it suspends like a beauty spot on its gloomy visage. This
decorates the expanse of the sky with countenance of a newly wed bride,
expressing a quaint sadness blended with sublime beauty. People witness her
beauty only to that consented limit, yet admire and cherish forever its
sublimity. I look to the sky and marvel how it is draped with cloud
all over, except for that small distant patch with the silver moon, just
like the form of a bride whose entire body is clad except her beautiful face.
So beautiful is this sky that it could evoke tenderness among stones. I reckon
this sky is like a partitioned land, a neatly carved piece of it for the clouds
and the other for the moon, as if the moon and the clouds have fought for their
respective shares. But I cannot stop from marveling how
the raindrops which originate from clouds cannot detach themselves from
the influence of moon. They shine ethereally in the moonlight as they descend
from the endless firmament’s bosom. Their beauty is unforgettable due to
handiwork of moon rays. This is how it always is with partitions. The
architects of partition may try to separate physically what they seek to divide
from each other. Never, however, they accomplish in absolute terms, bereaving
them from each other's influence. These estranged components, notwithstanding
the whip of partition, are bound to sway each other in more than many ways.
Sometimes making their purport more meaningful by that influence. Just the way
the marble moon beam bath the translucent raindrops and make them look
extraordinary.
I sit by my window and rest my head
on its frame, my small orifice to the world beyond my confine. The rain kissed
zephyr affectionately runs her fingers through my hair and spells herself all
across my tired body. I observe the grass waving quickly and the leaves
cradling musically in the hands of the breeze. They shine benignly for my seeking
heart and draw tears in them. Often when I am deeply hurt inside, my eyes flow
under the spell of such unrestrained beauty, as if nature assumes such
loveliness to allure me to share my sorrows and let my cry in her lap. I have
known over the years that these tears are wild and beyond my control. They flow
at will. They are reckless, they do not heed to my esteem. They come out
ignoring where I am, with who I am. But I understand. I understand why it is
so. When life is full of unfulfilled longings, and the heart is tired of
pleading and being let down then the tender sweet beauty of nature and its
visible affections in the fragrance of the wet earth and the numbing charm of
its gentle wind assume the form of my lover and hypnotize me. And before I realize,
my hurts melt into tears and start flowing as they would have in my beloved’s
embrace, kind and compassionate and receptive to my laden love. I hide my face
and cry more. I become disenchanted with reality. And that disenchantment
brings me the reward of heightened love for nature. I attain a sort of
melancholic peace in the bosom of the balmy ambience.
I wonder vaguely. Why can’t I know the beginnings of my sorrows and the end of my joys. Why can’t I convey everything that mires my heart. The hiatus between what I feel within and what I am able to say strangely become the lines of a story or the verses of a song I write. In those lines someone may find a relation and through that relativity I discover pleasing company again. I remember the hackneyed adage 'write from your heart' and wonder if I do that completely. Mostly my deepest thoughts, stay unexpressed in even the most detailed of my writings, poems and stories. The deeply personal nature of my torments makes it impossibly difficult sometimes for me to share them. After I have penned the last word of a poem, there is still a nagging residue of feeling that begs attention, but it quickly reconciles to obscurity. It is not that I do not try to achieve absolute expression. The truth is that certain things in me howsoever weighty, do not demand expression. They are habituated to anonymity, they are better off that way. They prefer the dark comfort in the depths of my heart, unshared and unexpressed than facing their fears of popular rejection or earning embarrassing infamy for their host. Most of my melancholies stay inside me. Despite every endeavour of nature to relieve me of them, they remain trapped by will. Despite nature's design to stir my fingers to the will of my mind to write, they don't find words. Such are my evenings at times.
Interesting...
ReplyDeleteGlad for that Siddharth
DeleteNice to read
ReplyDeleteThanks for reading Rupam
Delete'Describe every thought that crosses your mind and you will be surprised at their depth and beauty' - something that my english teacher used to say.
ReplyDeleteAs for your post, well, deep and beautiful :)
Oh, that is perfectly said Nimi.
DeleteAnd Thank You for your generous appreciation
I don't know, not sure..but it was a very complex read for me. Everyone cannot identify with nature, only few of us are blessed to do this.
ReplyDeleteAnd words ditch us, sometimes they do not come out and sometimes they are incomplete.
It's ok Sweety. What you feel is more important than what you can convey. Nature is to be felt and lived.
DeleteThanks for reading
Contemplative and poetry in prose....some souls are ever seeking
ReplyDeleteThank you Chaitali. It's true that sometimes I fail to find complete contentment and I seek on and on. Thanks for your gesture of appreciation.
DeleteStrange are the ways of the heart & mind.
ReplyDeleteNicely expressed, Anupam.
Strange and solemn indeed. Thank you for reading Anita
DeleteHI, ANUPAM, I FOLLOW YOUR BLOG AND READ ALMOST ALL YOUR POSTS.YOU'RE EXTREMELY SENSITIVE ABOUT THE WORLD AROUND. YOU EXPRESS IT POETICALLY. YET I WISH, YOU WRITE ABOUT SOMETHING WHICH ELEVATES ONE'S MOODS FORGETTING ABOUT ALL THE HEARTACHES.
ReplyDeleteFirstly a heartfelt thanks for your concern. It just goes to show that you are a very sensitive person yourself. My writings are ordinarily a reflection of my state of mind unless ofcourse I am writing fiction. I will not deny that for me it is hard to prevent my feelings from taking over my words but I take your advice with utmost gratitude and will definitely write things that elate my dear readers and I will do that forgetting all my heartaches as you say.
DeleteThank you once again.
Interesting read :)
ReplyDeleteYou expressed something so instinctive into beautifully woven thoughts, our mind meanders in strange directions.
ReplyDeleteThank you for reading Datta
DeleteBeautifully expressed.
ReplyDeleteThank You Kiran
Delete