I’m a huge fan of Kabir and Rahim’s Dohas. For the uninitiated, I highly recommend you read their unrhymed couplets; the life lessons I have learnt from these are countless. There is no topic they haven’t broached and I often defer to these when I am looking for advice but not ready to face a human.
Here is my favorite one:-
बिगरी बात बने नहीं, लाख करो किन कोय (Bigari baat bane nahi, laakh karo kin koye)
रहिमन फाटे दूध को, मथे न माखन होय (Rahiman fate doodh ko, mathe na maakhan hoye)
This roughly translates as follows-
A million measures cannot reform an unkind word uttered, act done.
So exercise control.
Try as you may, there is no butter to be made from curdled milk.
My poem for today is inspired by this Doha. It pales terribly in comparison because there is no tampering with perfection. Also because it was an effort not use the same words but express the same emotions.
I dedicate this to all my (lost) relationships where there is simply too much water under the bridge. The poem seems incomplete, just like us. Here goes…
The silences between us span oceans,
The unfinished memories decades.
If these were to disappear, nothing would change
…the walls of misunderstandings crisscrossing many lifetimes.
The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it’s indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it’s indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it’s indifference.
As my brain goes through a poetry lull, I thought it was a good time for some self-reflection. One of the reasons I think my poetry bank is drying up, is the limited eyeballs on my blog since it began seven months ago. Just penning this thought makes it sound so ridiculous, because it definitely gets more views than when it sat there in a secret journal. Penning this makes it sound so ridiculous because poetry has always been my way of contemplating my surroundings. So, when did someone, somewhere reading my work, become such a big deal? Perhaps the digital version of ourselves seeks approval in a way we never do in real life. Once up in the digital world, the likes, the followers decide on how you feel about a piece of work (or an image)…your opinion slightly less relevant and indifference dreaded and quite simply torturous.
So, I write this post to remind myself this, “True, your purple journal no longer resides in your pyjama drawer, rather, the web is your pyjama drawer now! However the people whose creative aesthetics you need to please haven’t changed and continue to remain ME,MYSELF and I.”
I hope to going back to giving the world my version of poetry next week, with pride. In return, I will accept its indifference, with pride.