Confidence in nonsense is a requirement for the creative process

I measure every grief I meet..


I measure every grief I meet
With analytic eyes;
I wonder if it weighs like mine,
Or has an easier size.

I wonder if they bore it long,
Or did it just begin?
I could not tell the date of mine,
It feels so old a pain.

I wonder if it hurts to live,
And if they have to try,
And whether, could they choose between,
They would not rather die.

I wonder if when years have piled–
Some thousands–on the cause
Of early hurt, if such a lapse
Could give them any pause;

Or would they go on aching still
Through centuries above,
Enlightened to a larger pain
By contrast with the love.

The grieved are many, I am told;
The reason deeper lies,–
Death is but one and comes but once
And only nails the eyes.

There’s grief of want, and grief of cold,–
A sort they call ‘despair,’
There’s banishment from native eyes,
In sight of native air.

And though I may not guess the kind
Correctly yet to me
A piercing comfort it affords
In passing Calvary,

To note the fashions of the cross
Of those that stand alone
Still fascinated to presume
That some are like my own.

-Emily Dickinson


6 responses

  1. A beautiful shot. I love it.

    October 21, 2009 at 1:13 am

    • dhaami

      Thank you ! I was quite surprised by it

      October 21, 2009 at 8:15 am

  2. congress gawat

    photo masta ahe. awadala.

    October 20, 2009 at 6:14 am

    • dhaami

      Thank you 🙂

      October 20, 2009 at 9:31 am

  3. Madz

    seems like a sad soul …..
    any problem??

    October 20, 2009 at 2:08 am

    • dhaami

      not really.. just a pensive mood..

      October 20, 2009 at 9:32 am

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