One Life To Live

Tuesday, March 31, 2020

ଅଳସ ରାତ୍ରି

ହୃଦୟର ସେହି ଉଷ୍ଣ ଅନୁଭବ

ଲୁଚି ଆଜି ଉଙ୍କି ମାରେ ।

କିମିଆ କରିଛି ଅଳସ ରାତ୍ରି

ସେ ତନ୍ଦ୍ରା ସ୍ବପ୍ନ ସୁରେ ।।

Tuesday, February 11, 2020

Memory Dewdrops: 5

The silvery words shined

With the essence of the infant sun
And confirmed the perputuity
For twilights, dusks and dawns.

Monday, February 10, 2020

Memory Dewdrops: 4

The plush velvety feeling

Breathed of happiness and more
It cuddled with aspirations
And thoughts of the purple moor.

Sunday, February 9, 2020

Memory Dewdrops: 3

The night was rich with melting emotions.

Indulged in the bitter sweet whispers.
It voiced the symphony.
In a tune as luxurious as chocolate.

Saturday, February 8, 2020

Memory Dewdrops: 2

The words had a subtle tingle to them

As if they were dwelling since eons

Just to escape at that moment
And vowing their existence for moons.

Friday, February 7, 2020

Memory Dewdrops: 1

The sky was lit

With the sublime fragrance of the rose petals,
The epiphany of the new breeze,
And of memories that once were veiled.

Thursday, July 19, 2018

Why is imagining difficult?

Do you feel washed-out during a long lecture

which doesn’t involve any visual media (like slides, black/white boards, or any activity, for that matter)? Have you ever thought that sitting (while doing no work, as per the definitions of physics) for a very long time is just plain boring? Do you feel doing something an utter waste of your time, because you just do not see the reason of doing it? Or, do you need a reason for doing something?

If any of the above questions has an affirmative answer (when answered honestly), however remote it might be, then you know that imagining is difficult. I have, however, never understood why. Why people lose the patience or the excitement to visualize something only their minds can create. Is imagining really so difficult that some just cannot do it or is it just the lack of curiosity that leads to this.

Stories of imagination tend to upset those without one.
--Terry Pratchett

It takes no time for some otherwise interesting content to be a humdrum if the visual medium is taken away and people were expected to imagine. In a similar way, rarely anybody likes to read a piece of writeup which elucidates the experience of a sunset. Some may also find it gloomy to read a long poem which entails the story of a flower. Visual aids, mostly videos, however content-starved, receives more interest. Most like the aid of a visual and physical medium to interpret things or assess the surroundings. That is possibly why, people prefer movies as compared to reading a book. The number of such people, I daresay, is terribly increasing day by day.

Of course, it goes without saying that books are, in fact, more interesting than movies. This, however, is applicable for people who love imagination. I have always felt that imagination is an inherent art which we humans are gifted with. Some, probably, never harvest it out, because … well, I really do not know the reason. I can imagine the reasons, though… but I am not sure whether they are, in fact, true.

I am enough of an artist to draw freely upon my imagination. Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world.

--Albert Einstein

Some might find it as just plain unnecessary. But, then again, it is imagination that lets one use knowledge for amalgamating the two beautiful worlds of learning and experiencing. So, thinking it as unnecessary should never be the reason, because it is not. Imagination brings out the inherent creativity, the feeling of desire: desire of experiencing a new world, of devising unique solutions, and of lot more. It also leads to self-discovery, in a way. So, it is definitely viable.

Or, is it that everyday life has become so busy, logical and fast that people just cannot afford to give enough time and reason to do mere contemplation.What happened to pondering over a reason of your own for something that seems to have no reason (for the logical world, atleast)? How many actually take time out to wonder that the splitter-splatter of the rain drops can actually be a form of conversation? How many would love to, and have, picturized a very well-defined world from the mere pages of any text? What happened to contemplating why flowers smile? Or just some mere beautiful and serene contemplation?

Yes: I am a dreamer. For a dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.

--Oscar Wilde

What could be the reason? What do you feel/think? Let’s ruminate on it. Then, let’s share our thoughts on this in the comment section.

Please post your comments to express your views.

Wednesday, August 30, 2017

Just another day!

It was twilight before I could realize. I knew

I should return but the allure was so amazing, I could barely sense. I did not know what thoughts were transpiring my mind. I did not even know if I was even having any thought at that moment, anything at all! Some say, thoughtlessness is difficult to attain. With such breathtaking vibrancy, it might not be as arduous. It was difficult to fathom my thoughts, or the absence of it.

The bright golden flowers in the mild sunrays seemed so vivacious yet so tranquil, they could devoid anybody of thought. The vivacity and exuberance gave the impression of them having some sort of conversation… perhaps about the day or may be the many onlookers or may be something that I might never have contemplated. I wish I understood. Better even, if I could commune with them. That is so implausible, at least at present.

Eventually, I assented the fact that I should return and capitulated to time. Who doesn’t! I headed off with the freshness and grandeur of those flowers on my mind. What an amazing way to wrap up another day!

Sunday, August 27, 2017

Enigma

The feeling ...

Of ardor delectation

Of serene exhilaration

Musing to write down thoughts

While searching for the perfect words

For happiness that glances

Reason unbeknownst

To the joyous prances.

The feeling ...

Of breeze's resplendence

Of frolic silences

Willing to paint a reverie

That doesn't unveil the mystery

Elation beyond measures

It's Enigma

That the heart treasures.

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