Confidence in nonsense is a requirement for the creative process

Posts tagged “poetry

Let him keep the rest..


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One of my favorite bloggers, wrote a poignant post exploring the need for a ‘defined’ self. It reminded me of a poem which we learnt in school, the Pulley, which has always stuck with me. The possibility that restlessness, is a steady state for man.. Of others, I don’t know, but it holds true for me. I am not an extraordinary brain .. just your average Jane and yet I have never felt satisfied. With a good life, a great job, amazing family. Having everything that is considered a privileged life.
Its never about having more.
Its always about having ‘right’. and what is right, I don’t know ..yet. Not knowing what I want can become a major hurdle in getting it..sounds paradoxical..
but that’s what it is.. the constant longing of wanting to be in a place where I’m not. The constant desire to be at peace.. which I am told can only be found within me. It is in me that I can seek the answers to my questions. But the questions .. they are yet not complete..

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When God at first made man,
Having a glass of blessings standing by;
Let us (said he) pour on him all we can:
Let the world’s riches, which dispersed lie,
Contract into a span.

So strength first made a way;
Then beauty flow’d, then wisdom, honour, pleasure:
When almost all was out, God made a stay,
Perceiving that alone of all his treasure
Rest in the bottom lay.

For if I should (said he)
Bestow this jewel also on my creature,
He would adore my gifts instead of me,
And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature:
So both should losers be.

Yet let him keep the rest,
But keep them with repining restlessness:
Let him be rich and weary, that at least,
If goodness lead him not, yet weariness
May toss him to my breast.

— George Herbert


I walk alone…


Give it up for David for writing a beautiful piece of poetry and being kind enough to let me post it here..
I don’t think the photo does much justice to the words.. But this time we went the other way round to find an image in my archives which would resonate with the emotions expressed in his words..

Water flows over
sand escapes beneath
vertigo at the beach as
waves play with my toes
I turn to softly share a chuckle but
I walk alone…

My gaze turns away to the sea
dancing diamonds on the water call to me
watching their rise only to
suddenly hide behind a wave
to peek shyly above while preparing
to fling themselves high on the next
I turn to softly share a chuckle but
I walk alone…

A steady rhythm frees rigidity
as pressure ceases it’s tension chains
waves to draw them out and
hide their tacks in the sand as they are
washed out in cool waters caress with
soft and tender whispers of serenity
I turn to softly share a chuckle but
I walk alone…

Her footsteps whisper in the sand
her fingers furtively entwine
with eyes glistening reflections of full moons
embrace of stars fairy dance
vertigo tugs us gently to pause while
skins goose bumps tingle hello
I turn to softly share a chuckle but
her lips catch it’s airy release

I walk but not alone…

-David Craft


The anticipation of something new..


And as promised, while I slog away in the corporate world, you get to read the hope filled words of Ayushi who writes breathtaking poetry

When she emailed saying she wanted to write a poem on one of my photos, I was very pleased, not only because she is a great writer but also because she is my very first blog reader (apart from my dear sister) from the days when my stats used to say 0,0,0,1,0,5 in any given week. And I’m glad she has not stopped visiting even after 2 years 🙂
Give it up for her..

There’s this feeling you get
Fleeting, momentary,
But always there
Just before you turn a corner
Just before you cross your doorstep
Just before jump off a cliff
Just before you take that leap of faith
Just before you step into the light
And out of that dark indecisiveness
That was holding you back.

Remember that feeling?
You hold in your breath,
You’re totally still
With a million thoughts running furiously around your head
The anticipation builds,
You slowly summon up the courage
You let out a whoosh of breath
You close your eyes
And then you leap.
Leaving the rest up to fate.

The adrenaline kicks in,
You feel exhilaration
Novelty, curiosity, lightness.
There’s the smell of freedom
All around you.
The sense of having stepped into
Something new.
A new you?
A new life?
A new road?
A new day?
A new home?
A new love?
It is that one feeling
That helps you cross the threshold
And takes you into something new.
It is powerful
And beautiful
And courageous,
This feeling.
It is quite unlike any other.
It is what makes you take that blind leap of faith –
The anticipation of something new.

-Aayushi Mehta
15.06.2011.


A Different Light..


Remember a few days ago Charlotte from This path of Lilly’s had written a super awesome guest post out here? Well she is so wonderful that she wrote another post on one more photo of mine.
Check out the beautiful poem 🙂

A different light
cascading through the blinds
filters you
and all in kind

A different light
from the one I once used
giving me
a brand new view

A different light
illuminates the past
the blinded
part of me, at last

A different light
like a new perspective
opens up
and then reflects it

-Charlotte Parr

PS: and again, if anyone of you would like to use my photos as prompts for writing, I would totally love it.
PPS: stay tuned for another super awesome poem from another super awesome blogger friend of mine 😉


I measure every grief I meet..


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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