Recently, my friend had a complaint about my writing. She says my writings are instilled with more emotions. What would I say??? Friend, if I eliminate those emotions, what is the difference between the cadaver and my alphabets? These words are often spontaneous and cannot be devoid of emotions, if I did, it then ceases to be lifeless, and become synonymous to me. So, let me give life to those lines with spilling emotions….
While writing this I remembered those days, where we had wonderful times. It was just because; I found a poem between my diaries. That took me to the remembrance, where my friend Garima exploded reading this. Anyway, I did not write this. But, surely, by a wonderful poet…that his resentment still arouse anger in my female friends (I use this to annoy my literary female comrades). And the truth revealed by the lines, which the world could never conceal…
Friend, as I said, I cannot write dead lines here….therefore, let me take you to another emotion of life-“anger”…and I am sure, this will amuse you sometimes, but definitely annoy you!..
Let me tell you how I came across this. I got this while going through the preface of a famous poem of my language, written by a famous poet of 1940s (can be seen from the use of old english). The Malayalam poem had it origin from the suicide of the close friend of the poet, and therefore carries the agony, anger and remorse caused due to the early loss of his friend (he died in his early 20s) and also the intensity of the youthful towards any emotional deluge, especially love and its failure.…..Surprisingly, the preface was written in English by poet Nizami…
Here it is for you, to take you to another emotional rage….
Distant from her adorer's view,
One in thousand may be true
The pen, which writes as if it knew
A woman's promise splits in two
While in another's warm embrace,
No witness to thy own disgrace.
Faithless, she wastes no thought on thee.
Wrapped in her own felicity.
Woman's desire is more intense
Than man's-more exquisite her sense,
But never blinded by her flame,
Gain and fruition are her aim
A woman's love is selfish all
Possessions, wealth secure her fall
How many false and cruel prove,
And not one faithful in her love!
A contradiction is her life;
Without all peace, within all strife;
A dangerous friend, a fatal foe
Prime breeder of a world of woe
When we are joyous, she is sad
When deep in sorrow, she is glad,
Such is the life a woman leads,
And in her sorcery still succeeds.....
While writing this I remembered those days, where we had wonderful times. It was just because; I found a poem between my diaries. That took me to the remembrance, where my friend Garima exploded reading this. Anyway, I did not write this. But, surely, by a wonderful poet…that his resentment still arouse anger in my female friends (I use this to annoy my literary female comrades). And the truth revealed by the lines, which the world could never conceal…
Friend, as I said, I cannot write dead lines here….therefore, let me take you to another emotion of life-“anger”…and I am sure, this will amuse you sometimes, but definitely annoy you!..
Let me tell you how I came across this. I got this while going through the preface of a famous poem of my language, written by a famous poet of 1940s (can be seen from the use of old english). The Malayalam poem had it origin from the suicide of the close friend of the poet, and therefore carries the agony, anger and remorse caused due to the early loss of his friend (he died in his early 20s) and also the intensity of the youthful towards any emotional deluge, especially love and its failure.…..Surprisingly, the preface was written in English by poet Nizami…
Here it is for you, to take you to another emotional rage….
Distant from her adorer's view,
One in thousand may be true
The pen, which writes as if it knew
A woman's promise splits in two
While in another's warm embrace,
No witness to thy own disgrace.
Faithless, she wastes no thought on thee.
Wrapped in her own felicity.
Woman's desire is more intense
Than man's-more exquisite her sense,
But never blinded by her flame,
Gain and fruition are her aim
A woman's love is selfish all
Possessions, wealth secure her fall
How many false and cruel prove,
And not one faithful in her love!
A contradiction is her life;
Without all peace, within all strife;
A dangerous friend, a fatal foe
Prime breeder of a world of woe
When we are joyous, she is sad
When deep in sorrow, she is glad,
Such is the life a woman leads,
And in her sorcery still succeeds.....
2 comments:
Well, i am not annoyed just amused. It is just another proof to show how men would see only what they want to see. The poem is a classic example of grapes turning sour syndrome. When the women is unreachable by all means,then, the very instant, she is all what the poet describes.Had she been reachable the poet would have personified her with the ever loving, all-bestowing nature, describing her as mother, sister, lover, daughter and wife.
But men being men cannot face Criticism and rejection squarely and hence, what better way than chastising women.
hey Saji, nothing personal. You are one of my few sensible friends. its just my thought, could be unacceptable by others.
@Meera
Hey dont take it so personally. For the likes of U, I would suggest - try reading the poem by substituting 'him' for her and vice-versa too. [A funny suggestion though ;)]
I think the melancholies that arise from despair are some of the best penned ones. Therefore, I would appreciate and give due credence to 'the despair' that resulted in the penning down of such verses. Just imagine what life would be, if there were no sadness...
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