Change in society is a common phenomenon, and it is very interesting to watch these changes from a distance. As a writer, one might be astonished at these changes and sometimes it becomes difficult to walk with society. The middle class comprises the major power in society, and it takes the lead in its own way. Nowadays when politics and literature are making place for the other two classes, the middle class is quietly changing its path. These days everywhere, in the train, in the bus or in airplanes, you find people talking about spiritualism, philosophy and Yoga and what not. It seems that every person has some knowledge of Ayurveda and Yoga. Spiritualism is now so much in fashion that every one is rushing to attain spiritual knowledge, which is leading the masses to pseudo spiritualism. I agree that spiritualism is not a wrong path, and it may help society, but I am worried about its pseudo nature.
Devotion or spiritualism has its importance in literature, a number of great Indian writers were great religious leaders, but their devotion came directly from their heart and their voices were always heard against terror, domination or cruelty. Their devotion was against the cruelty of society towards the woman. When Similar talks about spiritualism, he was in reality breaking all the odds of society. Spiritualism is not for a single soul, it is for society and the entire humankind, and leads to nature. It is not to make ourselves dumb; it should release our inner voice. And that inner voice should be the voice of every soul on earth. It is not an exercise to tone our body to look more attractive, but it is to train ourselves in favor of society. It could be more than what I think or feel, and I still want to learn a lot about it. I am not sure whether literature can find the right path in such confusing situations but I am sure, literature will not be affected. .As a writer I should observe and learn; I wish I could get fresh perspectives from people who are down to earth. I wish I were able to learn a few things from those who still derive their strength from within themselves. But I have a feeling that I am left behind. I only pray and wish that literature will not be affected by pseudo spirituality and will seek out the real and right path in this seemingly Dark Age of false values and beliefs.
As a leaf Draft and fragile You fall With huge silent pain You break off you let go you throw You lie down on the air You oscillate you drown you break yourself With endless strength You avoid the wind.You hurl on the earth Heavy Released by the promise to bring fruit And you dissolve Unarmed this way In the divine light of the sunset. Tell me only a word, And this disease. That grips my soul This doubt, That wears out my nights, This pain That blunts the mind and Melts my thoughts In the sharp flame of the forget fulness Will be able at the end to disappear, To shatter as a hostile armyIn front of the gun liberator.
Tell me only a word And let the air. The meadows and the skies speak Of a miracle, That in a distant once - They will say -Has saved from the madness. The soul of a woman.That won love ,That lost memory, That erased scent, That soothed voice, That not more repeated act, That empty space. And that useless hour.You My little soul, Don’t resign To lose And I die, With you As a captain With the ship Sinking.
A winter day,She went down the stairs Till the middle of earth.And finding only Cold and dark and stones,She came back on surface.With a jump,She was in the immense sky And finding only Perfect light and immobility,She came back on earth.Balanced,With a leg buried.And an arm in air,She wore out for love, On the jagged line.And so long Of the endless horizon.It hisses,Softly,Creeping,Backwardly.In the dark depths Of tormented soul.A thin Breeze, That tastes of ocean, And a life.At last i enjoyed it. i hope all of you will enjoy.
Devotion or spiritualism has its importance in literature, a number of great Indian writers were great religious leaders, but their devotion came directly from their heart and their voices were always heard against terror, domination or cruelty. Their devotion was against the cruelty of society towards the woman. When Similar talks about spiritualism, he was in reality breaking all the odds of society. Spiritualism is not for a single soul, it is for society and the entire humankind, and leads to nature. It is not to make ourselves dumb; it should release our inner voice. And that inner voice should be the voice of every soul on earth. It is not an exercise to tone our body to look more attractive, but it is to train ourselves in favor of society. It could be more than what I think or feel, and I still want to learn a lot about it. I am not sure whether literature can find the right path in such confusing situations but I am sure, literature will not be affected. .As a writer I should observe and learn; I wish I could get fresh perspectives from people who are down to earth. I wish I were able to learn a few things from those who still derive their strength from within themselves. But I have a feeling that I am left behind. I only pray and wish that literature will not be affected by pseudo spirituality and will seek out the real and right path in this seemingly Dark Age of false values and beliefs.
As a leaf Draft and fragile You fall With huge silent pain You break off you let go you throw You lie down on the air You oscillate you drown you break yourself With endless strength You avoid the wind.You hurl on the earth Heavy Released by the promise to bring fruit And you dissolve Unarmed this way In the divine light of the sunset. Tell me only a word, And this disease. That grips my soul This doubt, That wears out my nights, This pain That blunts the mind and Melts my thoughts In the sharp flame of the forget fulness Will be able at the end to disappear, To shatter as a hostile armyIn front of the gun liberator.
Tell me only a word And let the air. The meadows and the skies speak Of a miracle, That in a distant once - They will say -Has saved from the madness. The soul of a woman.That won love ,That lost memory, That erased scent, That soothed voice, That not more repeated act, That empty space. And that useless hour.You My little soul, Don’t resign To lose And I die, With you As a captain With the ship Sinking.
A winter day,She went down the stairs Till the middle of earth.And finding only Cold and dark and stones,She came back on surface.With a jump,She was in the immense sky And finding only Perfect light and immobility,She came back on earth.Balanced,With a leg buried.And an arm in air,She wore out for love, On the jagged line.And so long Of the endless horizon.It hisses,Softly,Creeping,Backwardly.In the dark depths Of tormented soul.A thin Breeze, That tastes of ocean, And a life.At last i enjoyed it. i hope all of you will enjoy.
No comments:
Post a Comment