Music of Manuscripts

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Penning poetry is a way of life and it embodies human awareness.  At an early age in schooling I reminisce searching the pearl of words like artist painting with his brush and shading rainbow of colours. I sent some of my poems, initially written in my mother tongue, to the editor. To my surprise I saw these poems appeared on the wall magazine of the hostel. I carefully sheltered my belief and conformed with hesitation whether was the same handwritten poem I composed, when I was a student of intermediate science, sitting on my old wooden chair. The words were tied with the amalgamated thread of natural beauty and social fabrics. It gave me immense pleasure. I once again glanced over it while returning from the dining room. “It is nice you have some inclination towards literature”, my friends and seniors complimented.

 I remember my first poem appeared in print in the “SCOLOMANICA”. The titled “Poems” read as

“We are born to live

 We live to love

 We love to win

 And we win not to come again…..

 Love is the legend of life

 It has no shape, size of its own

 It is as pure as milk

 and is as soft as the Himalayan snow….”.

To date I still preserve the little magazine with large care. Indeed it has been a great pleasure rendering birth to a creation in the form art, poetry or dance. Often I wonder all these artistic manifestations reflect one’s inner recess in a scientific style. When I share my writing with my friends and read out with aesthetic voice, I feel a great solace. Like a bird I carefully pick the words, rearrange them to a meaningful silhouette. Quite often I feel delivering some thing to the society through the treasure of words means some value.

            Poetically we can interpret science and conventionally it fathoms a lot of reasoning. The realignment of voice tracks a path of transmission and it scintillates differently to become more understandable. Perhaps it migrates some messages through the language interweaved with new phrases with hopes lingering to aspire. To place it more candidly here is one of my poems, “How Beautiful…”, published long ago, in the Indian Express:

 If birds could talk
 trees could walk with us

 flowers could express their

 cause of smile  

 spring could speak its desire

 and meaning of songs to the rocks

 waves could stop for a while

 so that we could have some words with them

 silence could spell out its

 aim of being a saint

 past could return and

 open its petals afresh

 graveyard could woke up

 after the sun rise

 and chat with us.

 It emanates a scientific and social eagerness. The modern science, with all possibility, is deemed to revolutionize into platform of reality. When we see a flower or any natural thing, we sublimate poetically the beauty embedded in it. We celebrate it as art. The science unveils these in the form of chemistry of colour and physics of light. The journey of literature rendezvous with social culture and creative scientific milieu. I got an opportunity to deliver a point on this in a wide gathering of a school. At the end of my speech I solemnly pledge all these strike to my mind like a stream of poem.   




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