Amongst the notes, she found a poem that, as a folded paper, was tucked inside a notebook. To her surprise, my handwriting looked completely different back then. To my surprise, my writing seemed completely different back then. She thought it was more artistic. I thought it was pretty lame of me to concentrate on rhyming words just for the sake of it. Thinking past our contrasting thoughts, we discovered that the poem had also unfolded with it a flood of memories, none of which were inked on the paper and yet had left their marks…
When the scorching gusts of heat
Fade the tears in your eye,
Recite the songs of the Spring,
Believe that seasons change, ask not why.
When circumstances are bleak,
Your bivouac is left far behind,
Choose what you must—
That let me not remind.
When without the trails
Should You journey barefoot,
Seek sojourns within a companion
In whose heart you could stay put.
When You, and only You,
Represent souls in the strife.
Look within as much as without.
Surely, the only rule of life.
When the days are few
You count each one anew
Amidst the hellish weather that
Destroys your crop that’s but already few.
Remember, always, to stand tall
And present the challenges a full face;
That You are your own harvest:
Be that befitting reply; and the one with grace.
The ancient Indian literature is full of symbolism. But, the documents from the relatively recent history are no less full of insights and wisdom. During one of my regular conversations recently, someone shared something really interesting with me, which made me write this post. Right, so the verses in the post are originally composed (and possibly sung) by Saint Tukaram, a popular Poet-Philosopher-Contributor from the early 17th century. He is
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