Women, Beauty and Poems
"What you don't have, you may not be happy after having it. Success is not static. What makes you to feel proud of the thing is changeable? As joy and sorrow are momentary so as respect and disrespect keep no meaning in the long run. So is the world where nothing is kept specially for your poems." My friend, who does not like literature, told me recently.
'Yes, after my death, my poems and feelings would keep no meaning for me. What I realize is that we cannot take a poem in an easy manner. It is our writing that is nothing but the continuous process of living." I also told my friend.
"Why do we live in our poems? Prior to this, we must make able ourselves to survive in literature." He told me further, "We can't uplift ourselves beyond the definition of poems. How difficult it is to lead a life."
"To write a poem in a single word reserves no meaning unless hearts tie in a life," I told him. The sun was above the roof. "Poem is worship. It provides pleasure to me. How can you prove yourself without overcoming the difficulties?" A poem that begins from touch and makes a way into the heart is really a beautiful matter in my life. These modern times of motor vehicles constantly mock at me while I am writing a poem. Crowds of painful voices mock at me from the sides of the streets. I continue writing and I am constantly fateful to search the meaning of my poems on the walls, statues, banners and crowds. Maybe, it's my own weakness to let hatred grow towards myself. Well, yes, it may be my weakness to find its objective and its goal. I am now like a crow looking through the thick fog. I know my friend had said that the meaning of the word "poem" and woman's "power" in life are created not like any other word just to write, read and speak.
The meaning of the words "poem and woman's beauty" is for some to speak, some to write, some to imagine and some others to keep preserved inside the heart. We do employ the word in one or the other sense. As far as preserving it is concerned it is altogether different which when we select outwardly and superficially. Perhaps there is no joy but greater pain. My poems assessed this reality, even when so many years have gone by, writing has still kept it within my life. And now I feel that I will escape far away in the same way from where the definite going of life ends. And again the weary days of life start and still like the sunny days I will have to spend many long years further. Sometimes I feel like completely destroying the incoherence of poems, this selfish environment and this self seeing mind, once and for all with force and then cry bitterly, but I am powerless not only in my practice but also in my thought.
My days slip by while I am in this very room just like that. I have not been able to do any remarkable job except repeatedly opening and rewriting my short stories and poems. Everywhere there is freedom and absence of time. Although I know that these youthful days are for creating something, to think something new and to make oneself active to achieve immortality. Why and how I am in this turning point and constantly away from outside life and headed towards thoughtfulness I don't understand.
There is no future of physical existence. There is no story of just living. Life is translated into small stories and small kinds of poems. My writing cannot believe it at all that I can keep my poem's distance and stop writing. How long can I live this life of imagination? These days I have begun to develop a kind, positive literature even with the shadows of people. I am really afraid of the selfish attitudes of people. Everywhere I see minds inspired by selfish interactions, covetousness in the eyes, failure and tragedy. What a picture of the creation by the great painter!
Those were important days when I spent long periods mostly talking on such struggles and problems. I made changes relevant and problems clear all at once in a few words in my poems. I lost myself trying to bring together the words of love and the debate between my poems that used to be the life problem. And till late evening I remained sad within myself and wrote poems of life. In many parallel turnings of life, I wrote several poems, tore them, burnt them and threw them carelessly away. There too, life was not properly represented in that way as well. There too, life has been hopeless, sad and scattered like a poem.
Not to be able to write anything about myself, about life, kindness, forgiveness, relationship, friendship and to get a look within incoherence has made me nowadays full of fear that the talk of our poetry is nothing but scratching my own wound. In order to be able to write a living poem, I do require woman power, a power which is endless like my incomplete poem and in the darkness I will remain conscious with my power of being able to write life. How am I to write a true poem of life? In my eyes too, there are dreams like a flower within me. I look at the sky and see it covered with thick clouds all over. I know, my journey of literature is definite into a direction journey. I am busy in search of equality of life for women, even when there is mostly inequality in us, where I could write the story of another life of women's beauty in the name of living.
Published in newsblaze.com
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