Monday 26 December 2016

Hacksaw Ridge - My theater experience

I remember what cinematographer Sunny Joseph said in a film work shop a year ago in college today "I've had the most spiritual experiences of my life in the movie theaters, sometimes I think I've seen god on the silver screen. Once in my youth I watched Andrei Tarkovsky's Andrei Rublev in theaters. I didn't know why, but as the movie went on, I started to cry involuntarily, I didn't know why, I wasn't sad, somehow I couldn't control myself." Some films or art in general has a way of touching us in a deeply personal way he said that day, That's the beauty of art and great cinema.
"Will I ever have such an experience in the theater ? ". This was something that has stuck with me ever since that day. Today in that dark hall as I sat watching Hacksaw Ridge, I noticed I had tears in my eyes and as the film ended and I heard one or two hand claps behind me (It wasn't what you would call a house full show) I sat there stunned and speechless.
Even after the crowd had roared their approval as the credits rolled at the needlessly over dramatized, melodramatic, average 'box office hit' that I saw immediately after, in the back of mind I can still hear the haunting sound of gunfire.
Hacksaw Ridge - One of the most violent, unforgiving, relentless, brutal depictions of war ever put to film. But still shows the ultimate potential of good in humanity. and the importance of standing for your beliefs and convictions through the story of man who showed great bravery in the face of unimaginable danger.

Wednesday 12 October 2016

The essence of life

I feel life is a set of destinations that you travel from one to another. You start out really wanting to go to this particular destination, but by the time you reach there you are no longer the person who wanted to go there in the first place. But at least you enjoyed the sights you saw on the way. I believe that is where the essence of life lies - the sights you see along the journey

Monday 5 September 2016

THE LAMPS OF LIGHT

Praise be, not to God, but to thee teachers, To the millions of men and women, The lamps of light that emanate, An inspiring gloom amidst the darkness. In places where the way is blocked- Where many wander knowing not what to be- You are the signs that guide them. You inspired us with your lights, You lit our blind lives with the light of your lives. Grateful are we for thy blessings and love. Let your hearts be forever pure, Let your judgments not be clouded, Let your minds not give way to prejudice, Let your knowledge be forever renewed, In the fires of experience and amenable pursuit. Thus to you teacher, my guide, my salvation, Who found the human beneath the savage, Praise be to you....................

Sunday 21 August 2016

I SEARCH FOR HER

I know not how long it's been, Seasons came and went by When was the last time I saw her ? My long lost love,my fair maiden. Her face,those eyes, that smile, That benevolent ever welcoming smile. Which uplifted me many a times She was always there for me Even when she left, she didn't, A part of her still lives in me In every breath I take In every heart beat that goes Lives the memories of my love. She cared not of my flaws She wiped away the dark days Every moment was the best feeling Those memories I hold on to I know not when I'll see her again I know not of what to say that day


"Her innocence is so brilliant"














She reminded me of the happiness
To live your heart out Live the beautiful moments Her innocence is so brilliant She still makes me smile She taught me to enjoy the trivial To not worry of the unknown To take a day at a time To live each moment to the fullest To face every adversity with a smile I never met anyone like her-before nor after Years later I still think of those little things The memories she left for me to cherish I knew not when nor where I lost her But I search on in this road Hoping that our paths cross again To find her again, to see that smile To hold her in my arms To never let go again No I will never let go again

Sunday 5 June 2016

Miracles

The early morning light hit my eyes
Awakening me from the world of dreams
I got up, pretty annoyed indeed!
Rubbing my eyes, I looked over the window
I saw the dewdrops caught in leaves
Shining like the pearls of the sea
I saw the world around awakening
As the song of birds hit my ear
I looked skywards to see the singer
But to my grief I couldn’t find him
Instead I saw the rising sun
In blazing red, like an apple in the sky
How majestic was the sight
Showing the power and grace
Of the one who makes
Life possible on earth
As the light breeze hit me
I saw the river behind
Water, clearer than anything I saw
Flowing through it majestically
Fishes and other creatures
Of different shapes and sizes and color
Filled the river resembling it
To a treasure chest embedded with crystals
Like this many sights
Which plundered my dreams
I saw in nature
In the vast universe itself
I thank you Almighty
For eyes to see nature
For ears to hear nature
And for a nose to smell its delights
I realize now that
Everything in nature
Is a miracle - A miracle,
Made by the Almighty himself
Neither how small or big
Beautiful or ugly, everything
Every being is a miracle
Like you, me and everything
And life in itself is the biggest miracle of all


"This is one my older poems (2008 I think), back from the time when I was a theist. But setting that aside I do believe we need to work together in order to protect our environment for the coming generations."

Friday 27 May 2016

Children in the park

I see children play in the park.
Like a rainbow in eternal flux.
They know no race,
They know no rites,
They do not judge by color,
They do not judge by tongue,
They smile, they laugh, they play.
A language which transcends philosophies.
Prejudice was never born, it was made,
By what we call civilized men.
Let me be a child at heart again.
To not think a thousand things about-
Every face I see, every place I go.
Let my heart leap like a child again-
At the sight of a new rainbow.
For I am done living with the dead,deaf and blind.
Let us be children in the park again.


Wednesday 18 May 2016

Analysis - Full Moon and Little Frieda by Ted Hughes

Edward James "Ted" Hughes, OM (17 August 1930 – 28 October 1998) was an English poet and children's writer. Critics frequently rank him as one of the best poets of his generation, and one of the twentieth century's greatest writers. He served as Poet Laureate from 1984 until his death. The poem "Full Moon and Little Frieda" is by Ted Hughes written about his daughter, Frieda, expressing themes such as childhood, innocence and discovery. 

This is rightly one of Hughes’s most popular poems and he has called it a favorite one of his poetry. The beauty and aptness of its movement could never have been predicted from most of the poems in The Hawk in the Rain—even The Thought-Fox’ is mechanical in comparison. It is rare to find such freedom of line accompanied by such appropriateness and inevitability, so that it seems to have a form as tight as a sonnet—the whole evening in one long line, the listening child who is the focus of it in a balancing short one; the ‘mirror’ poised between the water of which it is composed and the star that it reflects; the herd of cows in a long, lazy line that nevertheless doesn’t fall apart.

 The humor that belongs to the wonder is there throughout: in ‘tempt’; in the cows being commun­ally the river and individually the boulders that impede its progress; and above all in the final two lines, where something of the artist’s wonder at the life of his work, the moon’s ancient divinity, the child’s suddenness and wholeness of attention, combine in a deli­cacy of suggestion that really does defy analysis. But what the poem’s subtext reveals is the innocence of the Frieda contrasted with the experience of her father as the very first lines form the keynote:

            “A cool small evening shrunk to a dog bark and the clank of a bucket -
            And you listening.
            A spider’s web, tense for the dew’s touch”

The evening has shrunk not only because the light is failing but also because, as it does so, time seems to slow down, as it ap­proaches that crucial moment of nightfall, dewfall, the first tremor of the first star. And the poet is aware that his daughter is the hand; pointing to that moment because she is utterly open, without defenses, without distracting consciousness of past and future, to the scene, her fine web of senses perfectly tuned to it, tense as a spider’s web, brimming as a lifted pail. The cows, too, are part of the scene, the condensation from their ‘warm wreaths of breath’ falling like dew on the hedges, their udders brimming like the pail of water, their blood like a river flowing darkly through, bringing fertility, their bony haunches like boulders ballasting the moment, balancing its fragility and delicacy with permanence and solidity. Perhaps it needs the child to register and hold all this because the poet cannot open himself, cannot jettison his knowledge of past and future, his knowledge that blood can be spilled as easily as milk and run in rivers outside the body, that boulders in a river are dangerous, that darkness is dangerous, that the moon is a fickle murderous goddess. The poem as we have it holds all this at bay, submerges all darker knowledge which might disturb the perfect harmony of man and nature the child experiences.

            “Moon!’ you cry suddenly, ‘Moon! Moon!’
            The moon has stepped back like an artist gazing amazed at a work
            That points at him amazed”

The persona of “Full Moon and Little Frieda” views the child as a “mirror,” a brimming pail of offering, who gazes at the moon, the largest reflecting object in the cosmos available to the naked eye. The resulting astonishment at the recognition of an identity of mirroring artworks is very striking and describes another experience of the undifferentiated original essence of the cosmos, at times called by Buddhist poets the “full moon of suchness.” When little Frieda speaks the word “moon,” one of the first words she ever articulated as a toddler, subject and object, self and environment merge in ecstatic recognition of self-in-other, in the clarity of spotless, mutually reflecting mirrors. The cows that loop the hedges “with their warm wreaths of breath” earlier in the poem convey an almost nativity-scene sense of the purity and supportiveness of a benign nature in attendance. The cows, sacred in Oriental symbology as representations of the plenitude of creation, are an apt background for Frieda’s offering of self as a brimming pail of youthful purity to an equally pure moonlight. In ‘Full Moon and Little Frieda’, for the first time, there is a moment of harmony.

The poem testifies in its delicacy of utterance, its utterly fresh sense of wonder, to the possibility of knowing ‘the redeemed life of joy’ in normal daily experience, when, with an unspectacular access of grace, the elements of a scene - human, animal, domestic, rural, cosmic - suddenly cohere to express a plenitude, all the ‘malicious negatives’ miraculously melted away. There is no self-consciousness to close her, she points at the moon with an amazement the moon can only reciprocate, like an artist whose work has come to life or perfectly reflects the life of its creator who has created innocent and experience at the same time. But the conflict goes hand in hand where The river of blood, can actually be a river, but he's personifying this river into the lives of himself and Frieda , and the dark past they've since had to overcome (Sylvia's suicide) . So he's saying how dangerous it is, with boulders and blood. But then he says it's balancing unspilled milk, saying that for this moment, this peaceful moment in the country, life is balanced, it's calm.  Their bond (which must be strong after withstanding everything the two have gone through) is so great, and the moment that they're in is so beautiful, that even the moon stood back in awe. The poem is really picturesque and imagist along with the theme of masculinity:

            “A pail lifted, still and brimming—mirror
            To tempt a first star to a tremor”

The theme of masculinity versus femininity is continued with some of the imagery in Full Moon and Little Frieda. For example, the pail full of water is described as a "mirror", an object which usually has feminine connotations. The full phrase has possible religious implications -"mirror/ To tempt a first star to tremor." The specific use of the word "tempt" could suggest the temptation of Eve in The Bible. With the religious and nature imagery in both poems, this is not surprising. As Eve arguably caused the rift between mankind and nature, feminists would undoubtedly argue that Hughes is trying to blame women for this rift. However, I believe that Hughes is presenting us with the repair of the relationship between mankind and nature.

I think this is a crucial poem in the Hughes’ canon – one of his most arresting, strange, and moving.  Central to Hughes’ poetic vision is the extraordinary strangeness, otherness, of nature, and the miracle of our complex response to it. And this poem presents that most directly. This is a tremendous moment, because Little Frieda is either responding to the moon or to the cows, and there’s no way of telling which. She’s just giving a response so human, so innocent, so touching, that it transforms everything, tying together the earth and the heavens, instinctively, naturally and miraculously. Frieda’s cry transforms and fulfils the whole scene. It is a miracle, a true miracle, by which humanity understands, recognizes and blesses this strange nature which is otherwise so alien. 

Analysis-Tithonus by Alfred Lord Tennyson

"Tithonus" is a poem by the Victorian poet Alfred Lord Tennyson (1809–92), originally written in 1833 as "Tithon" and completed in 1859. It first appeared in the February edition of the Cornhill Magazine in 1860. Faced with old age, Tithonus, weary of his immortality, yearns for death. The poem is a dramatic monologue with Tithonus addressing his consort Eos, the goddess of the dawn.

Tennyson first wrote “Tithonus” in 1833 as a pendant (companion) poem to parallel “Ulysses.” Tithonus achieves immortality, but not the kind that Ulysses desires. While Ulysses wants to stay alive in order to keep adventuring, ready to fight his next battle despite his old age, Tithonus is stuck in the eternal cycle of the dawn and becomes weaker and colder the longer he lives. While his beloved is happy to go through the same motions day after day, Tithonus (like Ulysses) understands that mortals are built for something else—to live and then to die. With no vision of new adventures ahead, (unlike Ulysses), Tithonus is ready to die.

Like “Ulysses,” “Morte d’Arthur,” and “Tiresias,” “Tithonus” memorializes and expresses Tennyson’s feelings about the death of his close friend Arthur Henry Hallam. It is suggested that he comprised this poem after hearing his fiancée’s comment, “None of the Tennysons ever die.” The poem was changed slightly and published in 1859 in Cornhill Magazine, edited by William Makepeace Thackeray.

The poem is a dramatic monologue spoken by Tithonus, primarily to his beloved, Eos, goddess of the dawn (Aurora in Roman myth). It is seven stanzas in blank verse, and its meter is iambic pentameter, perhaps reflecting the unnatural combination of mortal and immortal. There are no heroic (rhyming) couplets, unless one counts the two lines ending with the same word,
"To dwell in presence of immortal youth, 
Immortal age beside immortal youth,"
       -which emphasizes the contrast between them.

The poem’s tragic situation is based on the Greek myth of Tithonus of Troy and Eos. Tithonus was not entirely human, being the son of King Laomedon of Troy by a water nymph. In the myth, Eos kidnapped him and asked Zeus for Tithonus to receive eternal life, but she neglected to stipulate eternal youth. Thus, Tithonus grows older and withers away without ever dying. In later versions he becomes a cicada who begs to die. Tennyson’s poem is also indebted to The Fall of Hyperion by John Keats, in which Moneta has a similar fate.

In Tennyson’s poem, Tithonus is the one who requested immortality. He seems to have wanted it for no other purpose than to keep admiring Eos and being admired by her. Though he also was proud of his beauty, he did not think to ask for eternal youth. Thus began the unintended consequences of missing an essential technicality. He is utterly miserable that he cannot partake in the death that is the due of every mortal. People who know they will die will live a different kind of life, perhaps a happier one, and they are all the happier for achieving their natural end when they die (without reference to whatever may happen after that).

Thus “Tithonus,” like “Ulysses,” is a crisis lyric, though the crisis is different. Here death is to be desired, not feared, since it is part of the natural cycle of mortal species. Tithonus rejects the ever-freshness of the dawn cycle of a goddess in favor of absorption into the life-and-death cycle of mortal species. Understanding this point of view clarifies why, in the first stanza, Tithonus admires the swan who dies; he sees his kind of immortality, rather than death, as “cruel.”

One critic, William Flesch, writes that “time is the name for the pressure of eternity, not ephemerality, for a future that will be endless and endlessly more bleak.” This is Tithonus’s experience with time, unlike that of Eos, who brightens up to bring the same dawn to the world over and over again. Her time cycle is truly circular, while his remains linear. He does not properly participate in her natural rhythm, nor does he participate in the kind of human aging that leads properly to death (whether or not one’s existence then opens out into something else).

This problem is understood by Eos: he continually asks her for release from his imprisonment in his withering body, and she answers with tears but no help. Arthur D. Ward notes,
" Tithonus’ use of the word “ever” implies that this cycle has been enacted for ages. “Ever thus” she answers his prayer for release only with her tears. Ever frightened by her answer, he eludes it, flees to the past, and emerges to repeat his request and renew the cycle. Thus the structure of Tithonus’ monologue is further evidence of his absolute passivity. As his environment, shaped and measured by the daily departure of Eos and her dawn-chariot, is cyclical and repetitive, so is his consciousness."

Tithonus is trapped, but the reader is not. We are those happy mortals who can choose the life of Ulysses or, if we lack ambition, the quiet confines of daily routine. We can enjoy the feeling of the dawn each morning, at least for the days we have left.

Analysis-Leave this chanting by Rabindranath Tagore

Rabindranath Tagore was an educationalist, poet and social reformer of India. He wrote hundreds of poems, plays, novels and short stories in English which enjoy universal appeal and esteem. He was a noted painter also. In a house where Thabala, Veena and Mridangam resounded day and night, it is no wonder music and rhythm found their way into his heart. Only the immovables in Tagore House did not sing, dance or write. Santhinikethan was a model educational institution founded by him where all Fine Arts faculties enjoyed privileges. Educated in England and in India, he himself was an educational visionary of exceptional dreams. His multitude of poems and songs written in the Bengali language brought renaissance to Bengal. He himself tuned his songs and never translated these songs to English, a very unfortunate affair.

Politics also seemed to fit him well. Along with Mahathma Gandhi, he served as a leading light and source of inspiration for the Independence Movement of India. His famous poetical collection Geethanjali was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1913. His poem Where The Mind Is Without Fear is world famous in which he mixed fact and fancy, reality and dream and politics and poetry. Without telling it directly and plainly, he skillfully portrayed in this poem the position into which British Rule pushed India with a heritage far longer than the British. This poem Leave This Chanting is equally important in World Literature due to his exposing the pseudo-zeal of worshippers everywhere. Just as 'Where The Mind Is Without Fear' contains his vision of a Free India, 'Leave This Chanting' contains his vision of Uncontaminated Worship.

In this poem “Leave This Chanting And Singing” Tagore deplores all selfish and barren ritualism (mere performance of rituals without any thought of general being). Tagore bids the holy man of prayer to abandon the outdated method of chanting, singing and murmuring loud prayers by holding tight the chain of beads one by one. He stresses on the holy man to contemplate on the fact of finding God inside a lonely dark room with all the doors shut. He must try to open his eyes inside the dark room to see whether God is really there in front of him. Will he even come near to the presence of God and expect a positive interaction with the Great Unknown? God is not in the dark chamber where the so called devotee is meditating and chanting hymns turning his back upon the world of toiling humanity. 

God is everywhere but His face can be mysteriously seen by the eyes of one’s heart in perhaps some of the most unusual places of the world. According to Tagore, God stands with the tiller who is tilling the hard ground and the path-maker who is breaking stones in the open air. He is with both of them in the heat of the sun and the shower of the summer rain, yet strengthening them unknowingly. Tagore even imagines that in the process even God’s garment is covered with dust. So he advises the holy man to at least try to imitate God by removing the ‘holy mantle’- the mendicant’s loose robe- and set foot upon the dusty soil.

After all man’s ultimate spiritual goal is to seek God’s deliverance. This is the liberation of the soul from the cycle of birth and death. God has bound himself in the process of creation and accepted its joys and sorrows. To be Godly is not to be restricted to self meditation and needless ritualistic flowers and incense, but let his clothes be tattered and stained for God’s sake. He should learn it the hard way to seek and find the face of God amidst the face of the world. God does not listen to his prayers, for he is with the poor and the down trodden. True religion consists in love of man and in lending a helping hand to the less fortunate men and women who struggle hard to make a bare living. Like Vivekananda and many other seers, Tagore believes that service of man is the service of God. That man is to be pitied who is seeking to find his personal salvation by running away from the world.Tagore conveys that participation in the activity of life is essential for the realization of God. This poem ‘Leave This Chanting’ is equally important in World Literature due to his exposing the pseudo-zeal of worshipers everywhere.


Edit (05/04/2018) : I know this is the most viewed post on my blog and it would be nice if you could please check out my other posts and share my blog. It would be a kind gesture

Wednesday 4 May 2016

Analysis-The wind tapped like a tired man by Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) was born in Amherst, Massachusetts. She was raised in a wealthy family and was known for her reluctant attitude towards guests. Dickinson, an american poet is known for many interpretations of her poems. She is told to harness power by holding back.Emily spent most of her time in her room writing poetry. She was also very reserved about publishing her poems, since only eleven of her thousands were published during her lifetime.The ones that she did publish, however were greatly modified to fit the poetic views of her time.

One meaning of the poem could be that the whole poem itself is about grief. The narrator has experienced the loss of a loved one."No Bone had He to bind Him-" also suggests that the wind has no definite shape.She tries to revisit him by thinking about the past memories with him. It is fine for a while, bu then she must face the reality that he is truly gone. The narrator has only the memories to hold on from the lost loved one. That is why the last line states "And I become alone-". This also refers to the loneliness she experiences in her personal life.

The other meaning of the poem could be that this poem is about Dickinson's personal loneliness. Since she is notorious for being lonely. In this interpretation the wind is eagerly welcomed by Dickinson. The wind provides company for a little while before she feels alone once again. The phrase "tapped like a tired Man" suggests that there is a subtle wind, and the phrase "He tapped-'twas flurriedly" means a large gust of wind.

The tone of the poem is sympathetic.The form of the poem is lyric because it expresses feelings of the narrator's grief and loneliness. The poem is written in quatrains and is considered free verse.it's mood is mysterious and powerful.The diction is smooth and simple that creates effect for the poem's meaning.(ie :"tapped" , "answered"," tired", "timid","passed" ) The poet employs end rhyme in the first, second and third stanzas in the second and fourth lines.There is no set rhythm. Although there are some cases of iambic tetrameter and iambic trimeter.

Literary devices used are 

  • Personification(The wind as a man),
  • Implied Metaphor ("A rapid- footless Guest-......... A Sofa to the Air-")-here the narrator is trying to reflect on the past memories, but it is extremely hard to do.
  • Apostrophe ( "And like a host...........My residence within") This is an example of apostrophe because the narrator is talking to something that can't talk back.
  • Simile ("His speech was............From a superior Bush-") This is comparing the speech of the wind to the sound of a bush filled with loud, singing humming birds
The themes of the poem are :We mustn't be overtaken by death, we must face the reality in front of us. Companionship is something we all strive for. We all want to be loved.

Wednesday 27 April 2016

Disgruntled Royalty







We are the disgruntled royalty, ungrateful, because we're ignorant of our grand status.

Friday 22 April 2016

Vanishing Green

A cry of agony, drenched in irony,
Echoed across the concrete jungles.
"I can't take the heat, I can't the heat,"
"Where can I find a bit of cool air?"-
Asks the man, sitting in an iron clad cage.
Should I laugh or should I cry?
At this comedy of errors, that transcended over a thousand years!
I look at my friend in the executive tux,
Hair as neat as a feather and sporting a gleaming watch.
He seems almost alien-not bearing the slightest of-
Resemblance to the ancient ancestor,
Who crawled out from the dirt.
The great mother cradled him in her arms,
He was weak, he was fragile, he was a slave-
To the everlasting mystery that went on.
He went about his ways, knowing not where he trod,
He crawled about, then one day stood up and walked.
His hands lost the love of the earth he dwelt.
Separated forever, since then to now....and forever ?
The child turned against the bosom that bore him.
The slave becomes the master and the master the slave.
Men conquered every land, far and wide,
Set sail across the seas and across stars.
In the hunt of the ages, did he lose-
Those that mattered and not to be lost?
A child renounced the mother the day he walked.
She cried for him, her tears drowned his kind.
Her heart trembled and many faltered under it's shock.
Yet he does not see Gaia's pain, or does he ?

When the last leaf falls, will we learn ?














Does he not know for every tree fallen,
A heart dies in a scorching furnace ?
Everyday I watch green replaced with gray.
I see concrete forests bury the living ones.
Innocent children whose dreams should sprout green,
Become gray old angry men with raging fumes.
When will man learn that money can't be eaten ?
When the last leaf falls ? When the last drop drains ?
When all but a barren dessert replaces all ?
I hope not as I still see hope !
Do not feed children thy wicked thoughts.
Water their minds, so they may sprout green.
Remember the times you crawled the earth.
Learn again its love and forgiveness.
Be the man you once were, not this monster.
Sing the songs of peace with the birds.
Drench yourselves in the eternal springs.
Remember that life is not eternal,
That the everlasting mystery goes on forever,
Contribute a verse like Whitman said
Contribute love, not hatred.
A mother will always love her children.
She is calling you back as loving as ever.
Go back home and make peace with her
"Come back my child, come back"-she calls.

Thursday 3 March 2016

A Spring comes after every Winter

The sands of the hour glass drain away,
Seasons come and go by in time
Changes - Visible and invisible.
Do men change like seasons with time ?
The scent of flowers in spring,
The fruits born in the summer,
The leaves shed away in autumn,
The cold sleep of nature in winter.
Alike we see ideas which blossom-
To bore fruit and joy to millions,
Yet fade away with the draining of the sands,
And sleep the eternal slumber-long forgotten
Many a kingdom and men have risen and fallen,
In the pages we read of them, Yet many are forgotten.
Dead men tell no tales-but,
The defeated have no tale to tell of even !
I watched the kingdom of men through the ages.
Like seasons it has changed, many a dawn and dusk went by.
I saw many come with a promise of spring,
A summer in which new fruit would be picked,
I watched them fade away like leaves in autumn,
To be buried in the snow of winter that followed.

"Change is the only thing that doesn't change"













This is true that winter is inevitable.
He is like a foe inescapable from confrontation.
Or is he a friend ? This long forgotten old man ?
Does he lead thee onward to uncharted adventures ?
I do not know what gifts he may bring.
But this I know for sure, A young girl in Spring
Will come after every old grandpa in Winter.
Every sleep in Winter, comes with an eternal hope,
A hope of new flowers sprouting in Spring to come.
I watched an autumn go by me.
Old leaves shed, withered away in the sands.
I stand in this cold winter-shivering and frail.
Many are sleeping-many pretend to be asleep,
For the pain of this silver knife is too much to bear
Yet I stand here with that hope of which I speak.
It provides me with a fire and warmth.
To take arms against the cold wind that blows,
The Spring is coming, I feel it's warmth every hour.
Nothing is eternal, so this winter will end.
Change is the only thing that never changes in the world.
Do not try to escape change- He is not an enemy.
Life is a mixed bag of emotions to endure
Like seasons they come and go in an eternal parade
Since time immemorial I have stood and watched them go by
Do not be disheartened by the times my child-'cause
For every Winter that blows by, A new Spring is sure to follow.

Monday 25 January 2016

Why I Care

Why I Care

“Why do you care? “ – The question
Into my heart came sinking
As cold water splashing
On an early winter morning

Oh my friend! How to tell?
I am afraid to look in Light’s face
For blinded am I by thy blazing gaze
I am dumb struck without a phrase

In all the tongues I’ve ever seen
There is no answer to give you
For there is not a single word
To express a loving heart

Yet an answer I give you friend
On a gloomy day I walked
Into thine loving presence
Devoid of glee, without an essence

Seeing you smile and sing
Filling all with loving cheer
Showing all that life is dear
Made me feel, there is still to care

Hatred the devil consuming me
Was defeated by light from thee
For even the mightiest army fails
At the sight of love and friends

I do not fear the darkest night
For resides with me thou love of light
I conquered all that I faced
With the hope that you gazed

Now I stand victorious knight
Heart filled with gratitude to thee
Yet why do you put on such a face?
Don’t you see the truth ablaze?

You are the light of love and life
For thy euphony fills one new life
And you alone can know the meaning
As I do the Light
And that’s the reason for caring

And to love without fright

                                                   ELVIN J PAUL

This is one of my older poems and can be considered to be a spiritual ancestor of sorts to 'Inspiration'