I
sit in a garden, to write, filled with essence of flowers and aroma of grasses
it was all magical to see the surrounding happy and fresh. The song of nature was always refreshing, a
mild melody that keeps hushing in the breeze that keeps the world moving. But there also exists a song of sorrow inside
the heart. The sorrow of the bleeding
wound, the pain of the scars that could not be healed. And when I start to write happy words would
not come. My comrade, the solitude,
wants to fill my pen with the mixture of my past and tears to write. Never my comrade left me alone and that is
why solitude became my best comrade. I
wondered many a time what makes a good poem or a prose. I realized that it is not a writer or a poet
who makes a piece of writing to enter into one’s heart but the song they heart from inside.
My
song was so special to me though it is always a sad one. I know not to sing so could not explain it
but I know the notes of the music that what I write down. This is my personal
song that only I could hear; all others could listen but not hear.
A
voice said – Close your eyes
relax go deep into your heart. The
expedition starts with a fresh day light like that of an early morning
sun. It won’t hurt. Get deeper and deeper the music slows down
like the ending note of a violin. Go
deeper, wipe the blurred glass where all the stains of the life was hiding; now
the song will become melodic, romantic, filled with love and lust. Get passed through the glass like the light
and it begins to dim. You sometime see
twilight loving and harmonic and suddenly you will see dusk, then dark. The songs’ pitch changes; the drama of melancholy will start. This journey is not so easy, not a narrow
straight path but a wide road with multiple lanes. Sometimes it brings you to the same road you
walked before just to understand the path, make sense out of the experience the
road has given you.
Don't
open the eyes; just allow your mind to travel.
Do not shut your ears;
allow the song to enter into your heart. The dark wall that you have painted
with white will start showing its own color.
To show the world that the wall is only white and there exist not a spot
of dark you would have painted in white.
But the wall always revel its original color to the one who painted. Only
the one who painted can see the darkness behind the white shade. Only the
composer knows the missing notes in the song.
Alas! My composer knows
the mistakes in the song I just could hear and not correct.
The
voice again said – it wrong
time to open your eyes, get deeper, travel deeper. The music now will become poignant. Don’t
stop hearing; just keep listening to the music.
The unfaithfulness, the love, the lust, the care, the ambivalence, the
malevolence, the gratitude, the good deeds, the bad sins and what not; all that you have done to your life pops
out like roses and thorns.
Remember,
the voice said – the flower
you smelled, its softest petals that you caressed and sucking out all the honey
from it you flew away like a cruel bee and the flower started fading. You didn’t look back for you are afraid that flower
was fading and it’s because
of you. You do not know whether there
may be a rain to water the rose or a storm to uproot, but you didn’t stop to look back for you are afraid the
sin might fall on you which are already yours.
Don’t open the eyes – the voice said again – loses are always lose. You were once a mother feeding the breast
milk of love to the baby that was not born for you. And there came a storm with turned your world
upside down. The baby disappeared
leaving its heart in your heart blended.
Centuries you may live but the memory of that touch of the baby, those
little fingers that scratched your lips and those tiny lips that sucked your
lips, will leave you never. You will
still feel the weight of the baby in your hands for only the heart has grown
hands. Now the song is a sad lullaby
which will make the baby sleeping inside the mud to sleep and keep you awake.
You
are once in your mother’s
womb carefree, happy, enlightened, rejoicing the warmth of the amniotic. And now you want to get back there for you
can start your life anew; the
same life in different fashion. But you
are not allowed. More tears now running
through the cheeks and it now has touched your chest trying to put off the
burning heart. The song changed to longing, the music of guilty.
Open
your eyes – the voice said – you do not want to open the eyes but it’s not the time to shut down the life so
you have to open the eyes and look at the light without fear and guilty for
days may not come back for you to correct.
Deep
inside every heart there is always a song of hope, a devotional song of faith
and trust. Only the composer knows when to stop playing the music, till then
just sit back relax, listen and enjoy when it is a song of joy and cry when it
is a song of sorrow. Hum the song of
life and the life goes on till the notes are done.
- S
