This a dilemma between a poetic life and ... leading a life that is 'subject' of poetry |
Nothing bothers me most than a half-finished poem. Emotion seizes me and I put the first few lines on paper. And then, all of a sudden, it retreats and I trail off Like my first expressions of love. I borrow emotions and select best phrases Grind them and polish them, Sew them concealing the seam. And yet, when I look at them The last lines look so singularly odd And I know, for sure, can’t be different to you. As a school boy I fancied To become a teacher in the footprints of my master, And at the college I wanted to be An officer of some rank. When I got married, to become A good husband, a good son and a son-in-law And as a father to tend my children Making them responsible citizens. Having failed halfway through at each enterprise, I wanted to become a saint To pray and preach through the rest of my life. The glib costumes, and the gleaming gray hair The phalanx of followers and the true truth seekers Have doubled my doubts Than I could set at rest any of theirs. Throwing off the garb, I started looking into poems around me. I saw poems flowing through unchartered territories, Making way through untrodden terrains, And poems on flight to dizzy heights of fantasy alone, Poems that sang random notes of a symphony, Poems that touched and moistened my eye, Poems that ended briefly, but only physically. When I looked back at my half finished poem, it lost its sting, and I am no longer interested in finishing it Per force or by choice. 4.12.93 On the occasion of JRD Tata repeating his trip to Karachi marking the silver jubilee of his maiden flight. (Karachi to Mumbai on October 15, 1932) |