Skip to main content

You still not die?

Biting winds pierce by
Ripping my soul into shreds
Cold night that muffles me
Whispers only of winter ahead.

I dare not hope for a fireplace
Nor heat of a rug do I aim
I seek that flickering candle-light
To help me have some warmth in dream

Battered body, tattered soul
Demand only one reply
With goals lost and dreams crushed
Why, o man, you still not die?


The above poem is merely a rephrasing of Robert Frost's poem A Question with my words and absorption of the core idea. The poem throws light on the immense pain and suffering that accompanies almost everyone's life; then, enquires meaning and worth of such an existence. Here is Robert Frost's original poem which is more lyrical and succinct.

A voice said, look me in the stars,
And tell me truly, man of earth,
If all the body-and-soul scars
Were not too much to pay for birth.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Dilli Diary

"For all its faults we love this city." - The city of Djinns The thought of spending a couple weeks in Delhi in mid-April is something most people would dread and yet, I was brimming with excitement and anticipation. To me, it presented an opportunity to break away from the monotonic work culture of Bangalore and to reminisce about the old days with my college wing-mate in the city I  once used to call my second home. Now, while sitting in my return flight to Bangalore,  I am penning down my memoir of this trip to Delhi.  Heat, Warmth and Hotheads Summer heat was the first thing I sensed after stepping out of my flight in Delhi. This experience completely wiped out whatever tranquil effect was lingering on from the mesmerising aerial view of the city from my flight- ’ The floating island of lights in the sea of darkness' . I estimated the temperature in Delhi at the moment - validated it using the Accuweather app and registered the fact that Delhi nights wer...
2 comments
Read more

Missing link in dream and reality

"I desire things that will destroy me in the end" -- Sylvia Plath While looking out of my balcony, I can always spot a single star in the sky. Probably with the pollution level in Bangalore , the dim ones are hard to spot. If it was southern sky, I could bet it was Sirius. But I don't know what direction it is in and I am too lazy to make any efforts to find out. Moreover the name of the star does not matter. However, it has a similar symbolic significance for me as green light had Fitzgerald's Gatsby. A dream well conceived , clearly visualised and yet beyond grasp. A dream thoroughly cherished and yet unattained. This brings me to another haunting question. How do people start dreaming whatever they start dreaming about? Frankly, it's Gatsby who comes to rescue. Gatsby's dream incidentally was a outcome of exposure to the girl( I wish I remembered her but I don't even care about finding right now) .   We can't dream of things we cannot envisage. I...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Days of Maggi and Masala

I f experiencing the unpleasant can trigger gleeful memories of past, then that spell in past must have been extraordinarily cheerful.   When I last wrote a blog, I was still in college. Writing a blog was one of the leisure I could pursue given the luxury of time. But more importantly, writing a blog was testimony of my naive belief that an idea should always be expressed and mere expression of a thought can spark a change in itself. Such were those days. Today I am writing to pay reverence to a time when to me world still appeared to be salvable (I am not certain of it being a word, but it suited my purpose the most).    "I am pissing steam" It all started with today's fucking cold weather in Bangalore. Yes, to my surprise, it does get chilly here. Though, it is not really worrisome, but it did get me thinking about the steam pissing cold ( as Tanuj would put it) we used to have in the campus. Those were the times when I used to leave a laptop under m...
Post a Comment
Read more