Thursday, August 09, 2007

Ghalib, a poet (1797-1869)

For the raindrop, joy is in entering the river -
Unbearable pain becomes its own cure.

Travel far enough into sorrow, tears turn to sighing;
In this way we learn how water can die into air.

When, after heavy rain, the stormclouds disperse,
Is it not that they've wept themselves clear to the end?

If you want to know the miracle, how wind can polish a mirro,
Look: the shining glass grows green in spring.

It's the rose's unfolding, Ghalib, that creates the desire to see-
In every color and circumstance, may the eyes be open for what


Diane said...

first stop: I love the imagery in here.

mompriest said...

I find it humorous that the poet talks to himself in the poem...

Diane said...

rhar is kind of cute! I'll leave a link to yours later tonight.

Katherine E. said...

Oh, gosh, I love this poem. At first, like Diane, the imagery grabbed me. As I stayed with it, it began to remind me of the summer before my mother died. I became so aware of things. I remember writing in my journal about colors being more vivid and somehow feeling the steering wheel as I drove to work...things like that. I was just awake and alive in a way I'd never been before. My "eyes were open" for what came.

Such a gift to have experienced before the "unbearable pain," which did, eventually, years later, "become its own cure."

Every line is so meaningful.

For me, it seems to be a poem about experiencing the oneness or unity of all things...the material, spiritual, emotional

Diane said...

I do think it is a kind of a mystical poem.

mompriest said...

a mystical poem of unity mirroring back to us that God continues to create wholeness out of brokeness, joy from our sorrow, hope from despair..."if you want to know the miracle, how wind can polish a mirror Look: the shining glass grows green in spring."

Jan said...

I love this poem, which is so new to me. It was truly a gift, as I sit in in my in-laws' home in WA, up before anyone else. Thank you. Not much poetry on a vacation.

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