I have always been in awe of some of the greatest poets and writers. Some have been appealing to me by their portrayal of emotions into poems and in the process sketching before my eyes a picture of these emotions. Some also have been quite 'heavy' for me, quite incomprehensible for me.
My favourites include Robert Frost, Pablo Neruda, Kamla Das, Rabindranath Tagore, Gulzar, Javed Akhtar and Sheila Gujral. Recently I ordered a book by Pablo Neruda where he writes poems about his love for sea. I am waiting for the book to arrive and experience what it would be to fall in love with the blue sea and the waves so much that he pens so much about it. Below is one of my favourite poems by Pablo:
The Saddest Poem
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance.
"The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.
To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.
What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.
That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.
As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.
The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.
I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.
Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.
Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.
Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.
I am never into reading poems. I find them a lil heavy for me. But after reading this i must say its a beauty !
ReplyDeleteHey Prags, Pablo Neruda is beautiful poet. In my later posts, keep checking for more of his poems. They are real beauty.
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