Sunday, October 05, 2014

Poetry of Sorrow

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 49; the forty-ninth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

[From her diary...]
Photo Credit: D Sharon Pruitt
The most devoured expression of mankind is sorrow. You would disagree and question my statement. I agree that the Vedas and The Universe (or anything on those lines you believe) all ask us to follow the path towards bliss. There may be more self-help books on achieving happiness than the actual problems of life.

But, the truth is, human looses self identity during happiness, while in sorrow, finds it's unmatched ego.

Sorrow is beautiful, one could feel his complete self, literally. The soul realizes it's importance in it's presence. The things hidden down the memory lane, as if finding a new life, starts breathing. One could hear the heart beat and weigh its heaviness as it goes.. dub.. dub... While most of us gets upset when fallen in sorrow, the beauty of it could be felt by very few of us. And though it is painful to sustain, once you understand it, you love wailing in it. It is the awareness (which is otherwise fleeting) of the inner self, although toiled, that the sorrow brings to you easily and addicts you.

In this sorrow, the songs that you played on your playlist randomly start to take a form and you could connect to it as if they were words dripping from your heart and licked up by your soul. You become a bystander. You could listen to the cars running, wheels spinning. People doing their daily chores gets accentuated and you, who then, otherwise passed the lane like a robot, would now observe the world brimming in life, as a watcher with submerged awareness.

While I am sure this awareness has nothing to do with the spiritual awareness, still, the detachment you feel from the world around, cannot be just shrugged away. It's not only the body and soul that supports you, but the brain too becomes your companion of suffering. Prose and poetry just flow like sap from a tree oozing and giving you some awkward satisfaction.

These dark words are motivation for myself and some might pick the color of depression in them. But these are words of honesty and beauty. To me, the poetry of sorrow is as poetic as the song of happiness.
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