On the rain, the blocks and the little shocks!
Is that not what a poet craves for? Rains have a certain romanticism imbibed in their very nature. It would only be a hardened, heinous heart which would not be delighted by the rain!
Poetry flows at its own pace. I strongly feel that poems are quite feminine in nature! When you want to write one, however hard you try, it refuses to lift its veil. But then it reveals itself, surprising you. So impulsive, yet so tender. Like a little child throwing tantrums one moment, and then mesmerizing you by her innocence in the very next!
However hard I tried, throughout the monsoon of 2013, that ever elusive piece of poetry evaded me. I had waited for the rains, and wanted to write something new and different from my previous writings. But the harder I tried, the worse it became, so I gave it up altogether, and blamed writers' block (as though I was some great novelist working on her masterpiece!).
One fine Sunday morning I opened my favorite Sunday read- The Indian Express 'eye'. It was a whole issue on happiness, and I could not put it down until I had finished it from cover to cover. The article on Sachin Tendulkar by Aditya Iyer ('Sach were the Joys' http://www.indianexpress.com/news/sach-were-the-joys/1175728/) was a touching one. But the one which captured my imagination was the one about Ruskin Bond ('A Slice of Life' http://www.indianexpress.com/news/a-slice-of-life/1175737/).
The following introduction quoted from his book 'Rain in the Mountains' struck a chord somewhere...
"All night the rain has been drumming on the corrugated tin roof. There has been no storm, no thunder, just the steady swish of a tropical downpour. It helps me to lie awake; at the same time, it doesn't keep me from sleeping. It is a good sound to read by — the rain outside, the quiet within…"
I read this, and then all of a sudden, it started to rain! The monsoon was long over. Perhaps this was a post-monsoon shower. But still! It was raining indeed! And that too after a long time.
The pure joy remained in my heart. And it flowed in the form of the following poem...
Rained inside, and out...
I sat by my window, reading
It rained within as I read.
The raindrops, the overcast
Building up inside my head.
The quiet outside, I could not hear
The storm within, fathomless.
A storm so full of despair,
The rain inside, ceaseless.
The rain then poured, ever-so-more
Flooding the depths of my hollow heart.
It overflowed out of silent eyes,
Dripping on the book, as it part.
A falling drop then caught my eye,
Not within. Without.
A fresh downpour, now greeted me,
Not inside me, but out!
My sad heart now soaked itself,
In the delightful burst of cloud.
The wind, the thunder, the rainy spell,
Dispelled the dark, stormy shroud.
I sat by my window, pondering.
As it rained, watching in glee.
The innocence of the falling drops
Finally got the better of me.
The peace inside, mesmerizing
I saw the storm in new light.
The rain inside, was now out,
Despair was now pure delight!
It was a bit difficult to write after such a long time. Thought of giving up when I was in the middle of it. But I persevered!
And that is how I overcame my so called 'writers block'!
(I've clicked the picture above at the Kaas valley, Satara, India)