Recently I had posted a lovely song of Ravindranath Tagore about rain.
Rains have stopped (although it rained yesterday a bit and today), so my posting made someone I know ask me whether it was raining where I live. I replied that rain seemed not to want to go. Then I added that my posting had something to do with the 'inner rain' . Some people experience an inner monsoon constantly. I do.
Today I am experiencing that inner rain. It is a distinct feeling of 'wetness' within your consciousness. There is sighing and melancholy, a bit of pensiveness and heaviness. There is a peculiar longing for something deep - a lost world you truly belong to - and to describe it precisely is difficult. Things are misty and foggy, there is a vagueness to things...
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My 6 years old son Mir says sudden things and it surprises me. At dinner the night before I was rather sleepy. I had my eyes closed at the dinner table. I was not sleeping but sitting there with eyes closed was comfortable. Mir saw me sitting there and he thought that I was dozing. He asked me, "Are you falling in sleep, Charu?"
Speech should be a revelation for poetry to be our normal speech. What else is poetry but a thing seen and caught in inevitable terms? The Sanskrit word for 'poet' is kavi. It means a seer.
To me somehow Mir's utterance was comparable to those lines of Wordsworth, "Thoughts come to me from fields of sleep"...
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