Is There a Difference Between a Poem and a Song?

Languages are born with intonations and into intonations. They are primarily sound waves. Musicality is also constitutive of waves. Now, does that bring to your imagination: sea waves, air waves, microwaves etc.etc.etc.?

Yes, we breathe and live in a wavy galaxy.

There was the silence. And then boom! The waves happened. The sound happened. The words happened. The speech happened. The language happened. The poetry happened. The song happened.

Or the song happened and then poetry happened? Or both happened together?

But we are at a stage of evolution where we do not classify anything and everything that happens in language as poetry or song. I am not saying that we can give a definition to these two genres of expression. Of course we cannot. But one can say they are the genres of feeling. So, they are kin at the level of their conception as waves and at the level of feeling. They are waves created out of waves and seeded back into the world of waves. Yet, do you also ponder upon their being separate genres? Is it true that what cannot be sung, cannot be poetry?

In many cultures around the world poetry was written to be sung so much so that distinction between the two genres was not even considered. In fact some scholars say that human cultures began with the oral tradition with verse forms composed only to be sung. It is a very popular statement by literary giants that poetry comes with its own music. And even today we see poetry turning into songs thereby entering into a circle of consciousness wider than it inhabited before. Wikipedia lists a number of songs based on poems. Here is the link: . Indian cinema is full of poetry turned into songs. There is a long tradition of Ghazals culminating into songs.


Everyone who has read a lot of poetry and heard a lot of songs must be having their own answers for the question. Here is what I feel about it:

We encounter poetry as written word (or if sung, then as sound, but then it is a song) and a song as sound. In a poem we meet the “abilities” of a series of words. In a song, we meet one of that ability manifested: the ability to flow like a river without becoming conscious of the same. I talk about the abilities of a poem and yet if a poem turns into a song, it is a fact, that it enters wider social consciousness.

Imagine what kind of a song T.S.Eliot’s Wasteland, if tried, can turn into? Words just do not turn into a song in a macabre context. Yet there is, Amrita Pritam’s “Aj Akkhan Waris Shah Nu” sung by Wadali Brothers. Amrita Pritam urges Waris Shah–punjabi sufi poet who authored Heer Ranjha–in the grotesque context of Indian Partition. And then there is our very own Bob Dylan: the song writer; the literary Nobel laureate 2017.  This gives us another question to wonder about: what kind of poems turn into songs? Of course, a poem comes with its own music, but then what is their in it which marries it to a musician’s (artist other than the poet) creation? It will not let us know… 😀

Poetry lets us be with the uncertain. It gifts us and leaves us with something which always and always slips out of our hands. It plays. It is it’s andaaz–it’s style and it’s way. And may be so does it is of songs…

The court is open for discussion.


There is a Difference…

There is ‘IIT-IIM’ Chetan Bhagat and then there was a banker who turned Paul Gauguin…

There is capitalisation and then there is imagination…

Some people turn from MBA to remain an MBA, some turn into great ARTISTs…

Some people shake hands with status quo…some people try to subvert it…

Some people are always afraid living in the garb of civilisation…some people throw it off to become savage; to commit to life(an art)…

(I recently read The Way to Paradise by Mario Vargas Llosa)




Can we be Someone Else?

Over the centuries we humans have created myriad jobs to better this universe and to prevent the chaos we usually indulge in, in the absence of checks. Yet there are millions jobless; another million who fear loss of job; another million who live with the anxiety of getting a job.; another million who live under impressions to beget impressions . The faction of us who belong to this million try to ape the “bestest”. The faces flashed on our television (especially advertisement) screens are exactly the ones we want to become. The question is how can we be someone else when we are who we are? How is this wish to be someone else, to meet someone else and not one’s own self find its way into our minds and increase the already heightened entropy? (Wouldn’t increase in number of similar people reduce the variety of workers required for the job?)



PS: What I am going to write about constitutes human feeling and its writing over.

Especially as kids-the revolutionary kids-our cries, sadness, rebellion, happiness, erupted out of some elder trying to either discipline us or make us feel committed to something. By the way, do we not still rebel? Have we grown up yet? Have we evolved enough to let commitment or discipline seep in? Don’t we, even now, doodle and dawdle like kids and feel like giving a kick to whoever established that establishment? But then even doodling and dawdling requires a kind of commitment or discipline. Even dawdling starts slipping out of our hands as soon as the sense of stagnation seeps in, which means what we really wish to kick off is this sense of stagnation. Though human life kicks one enough to not even think about this stagnation, yet we cannot deny its seeping in, even if for few seconds. Though some proportion of our feeling is weaved out of our sense of being committed or disciplined, a portion of it is also written because we either don’t want to be committed or don’t want to be tamed by discipline. We, sometimes, want to fly without nesting or resting…which is too ambitious. Commitment or discipline is about nesting or resting; they give one roots.

It seems you don’t really agree. That’s why I will try to think about the words: discipline and commitment separately; what is there in them that aches the human soul and what can heal it. I will only try thinking about them as,

Yet all that I have learn’d
By long experience, and in famous schooles,
Is but to know my ignorance at last.
Who think themselves most wise are greatest fools.

William Alexander, Earl of Stirling

Admission as a disciple of the ‘discipline’ can do one wonders. It is definitely a challenge to become one. But then there is another word called ‘commitment’, which opens its arms again only to challenge the human spirit. Both though drive us away from procrastination one is tempted to ask: is there a difference between the two or both of them employ their energies to tame the human being? Yes, words do possess energies which constructs civilizational sensibility. Civilizational sensibility constructed by the words commitment and discipline have invariably made us confront the difference between what civilization wants of us and what we want of ourselves. Why? Why is there a difference between what civilization wants of us and what we want of ourselves? Does that mean we want to be spoiled brats and it wants us to be table mannered children? Whatever the answers to these questions, it is almost certain that discipline has in its connotation the tendency to rule while commitment means self rule. To be ruled is suffocating while to rule one’s own self for the sake of commitment is liberating. But then can we teach kids to be committed without making them undergo a rigorous discipline plan? A movement from discipline to commitment is required or should we be reared as committed beings?

I feel what arrest is to discipline, anchor is to commitment. It is in human nature to search for anchors but escape arrest. Yet, arrest, many a times makes us visit what was hitherto not visited. That means arrest is constitutive of movement but so are anchors. An anchored boat can be liberated at any point of time. Oops…are we entering into another debate… between anchoring and arresting?

But I am sure that since you are not getting any answers out of this post, you feel I must be committed or disciplined enough to provide you with some anchors. But, didn’t I arrest you for a while? :D… by the use of that PS: in beginning…



We cannot bind it in definition, so invested is the concept of eternity.

Love is when you look mad and beautiful at the same time. It is intriguing how madness and beauty can go hand in hand….ahem! may be they go hand in leg?… you see, they are madness and beauty…but we forgot method…the journey from madness to beauty is after all propelled by method. Method in madness, the Shakespearean idiom brought me to aforesaid sentence. How can one impede from coming to the mind master’s creations especially when one is talking of love.

Today, on this blog, love is when somebody makes you able enough to speak and is hell bent on doing the same yet never appears on the surface pursuing the same because the feeling dwells deep with in and refuse to embrace the affectations. And speech is what takes you to the other and to yourself. By speech, I mean conversation with yourself and with others. So, one who connects you to yourself or you to the world or you to the universe, is the one who loves you best. This is where the madness, method and beauty comes in and forth. So simple you see. Ha ha…

Let us witness a bit more simplicity of our existence

To be with in one body and not know its soul is the weirdest feeling. Everyday we wish to know it and do various activities to know it. But what if it slips out of your grip every time you attempt to understand it. That is where the other comes in. That is where you try to understand yourself through the other being and try to see yourself reflected therein. But the problem with observing your reflection in the other is that, one is many a times deceived into believing some reflection as the truest reflection. And that happens probably because of the contexts we are living in; because of the deficient measurement of how nearer are we to ourselves. Though, to come near to one’s own self one needs the other, it is the nearness to one’s own self which helps in having a clear view of the reflection in the other. So, it goes round and round and round. One may find many a reflectors…which means a part of us is in everybody of us, but some have higher proportion of us. But nobody can be us, because if somebody can be us, then the whole game of reflection ends and ensues the rusting process. In fact the one who attempts a way away from rust is really in love…with life. So you see it is in the mirrors that life sustains, yet it cannot sustain only in them. It ought deboard and board the mirror ship again and again for us to fall in love again and again and not enter the contraptions which might trap us in the rusting process.

Speech and conversation is what takes one to reflection grounds where one can observe one’s own self and connect with others. They help boarding and deboarding of the mirror ships and are instrumental in prevention of rusting process.

Let me end by saying, love is both unison and diversion; it is both similarity and dissimilarity; it is both madness and beauty. And one who lets you enter the distance between unison and diversion; similarity and dissimilarity; madness and beauty is the one who is madly in love because in that being lies the method which brings you the beauty.

So…my dear reflectors…Love you all…:)…



Nothing to be apologetic about your feeling of restlessness and bent towards blaming for the atrocities you face. After all, it informs one about the existence of a feather hitherto unknown. But, since it gives your stomach an eerie feeling, it is required to be mollified and morphosed into something which can alleviate all the gastronomic troubles; which can turn your being into a perfumery. And who does not like the thought of turning into a living, walking perfume or the whole perfumery?

Let us confront that restlessness has become common these days. Confrontation is one apparatus life sustains on. Now, notice, I am using the word confrontation and not pugilism. If you and I were together this evening, I would have liked conversing about the same and brought to the table, the topic of poetic confrontation.

Poetic: the word at times inspire awe, at others, is not considered worthy of welcome. If you belong to this other school of thought, it is required of you to keep your prejudices quiet for the length of this column. By poetic, I mean one should strive to become an absorbent and a reflector; absorbent of circumstances and reflector of the mystery in an ordered form.  It gives one a kind of calm when upon reflection, a rainbow like beauty is conceived.

But before going further, let me inform you, this is not a lecture. This blog post is an attempt to converse and know what goes on in the mind of my reader (which can be shared by commenting).

Mind is the breeding ground. Whenever we resist our circumstances and attempt to halt their course, this breeding ground stales and stinks. Nevertheless, we do that, thinking it will bring us some magical potion. But far from magic what we do get is a lump of putrid entities. Don’t we? So you see, all of it is in keeping with contemporary techniques; with experimentation. It is therefore important to flow with and confront whatever comes our way rather than consciously attempting to halt the train provoking constipation and ultimately farts. The flow assures a route away from restlessness. Now, if one succeeds in resisting the resistance of one’s mind, one encounters stones and puddles on the way. To create a way out of them, while being with them is where the aesthetics lie. To stay and look into the eye of harsh circumstance is therefore a feat. But doing it poetically is where lies the greatest strength.

Attending to ‘all’ that goes on around us calmly, raises our understanding of life and hence helps us live fully. This is where poetry comes in. Poetry is best at taking into consideration the context and then potterising it into sublimity. This happens because by attending, we increase the perimeter of our selves. In other words, we increase the space where we usually accommodate others; circumstances. If one succeeds in aping poetry, life can actually turn from restlessness to beauty.

And all of this turns us into collective beings, more sensitive towards others, which further leads to showering of love upon us from the collection, hence reducing the route to restlessness into a non-entity.

So for the sake of love, let us confront poetically and sprinkle the beauty of our perfumery. What say?


Interpretation of an Art Work

Before writing this post I should have interviewed or rather I should say interacted with an artist. But then I thought, rather than irking a soul, especially an artistic one, I should first compose the question. And since compositions are meant to be shared, I am here with my text, though after a long gap, as is usually the case at this blog. Nevertheless, I must defend my “non defendable self” by saying…..(its too private, I can’t share it; its too long, you won’t enjoy it; its too boring for your intelligence)….so let’s chuck it.

Back to the question, I wanted to ask the artist. Actually, I should first announce my personal feeling about it.




May be, I am taking too long to articulate the question. But just like I myself am intimidated by the question, I fear my reader might as well shrink after hearing it. This is not to butter-ify my reader,but I must say that I am dealing with a reader who revels in the distance from facts. Actually we should all revel in the distance from facts, for there is my truth, your truth and the truth, AND FACTS DO NOT FIT EITHER OF THEM. Anyways, my apologies to the factual “selves”.

Convolutions are mostly or I must say always intentional. Do attempt to decipher out the convolution the writer of this post has been trying to construct hitherto. Ok! now allow me to solve one for you.

So, my personal feeling about the question, “what is your art work about?, please explain it”, is that this question should either be properly constructed in a “convolutionary” way or it should not be asked.

In convolutions lie “precious-ity”; they can be depth-less or depth-full; it is in this game that the pleasure lies.

The questioner can shower respects to the artist’s effort by properly constructing the question. Just like, John Ciardi says one should not ask, “what does a poem mean?”, rather, “how does a poem mean?”, one should not attempt a reductive and direct question: “what does your art work mean?” It is almost as if the questioner is saying, “I have my antennas rusted, can I borrow yours for interpretation of your art work?”

The art work always mean different things. And it should mean different things. It is in its multiplicity that its aesthetics lie. Art work is a foundling after it is released from the artist’s mind and soul on to the canvas. True that, one must respect the history and personal life of the author which produced that art work but then one must also respect the fact that history and personal life come into being from a complex matrix of multitude of interpretations in author’s mind. One ought respect that multitudinal matrix by constructing the question in a proper way. One ought respect this foundling. Breathing in conventions needed for its  aesthetic survival, it remains for the large part of its life free from “the facts”; free from the conventions which want fast answers.

Whenever somebody asks this question directly about an art work, it irks me deeply. Though I have attempted to jot down the reasons, I am still not very sure about the causes of this ache. May be some of you share it or some of you do not. The question is open to both categories of readers and also to those who do not belong to either of them.

The question precisely is, “whether it is apt to directly ask the artist, what does your art work mean? and whether, “meaning is the only end, an art work’s interpretation should strive for?”


Complacency is a Disease: An Acerbic Note

Almost everyday, on my way, I see a dead body wrapped in white waiting for its turn to turn into ashes. Some elder readers might find this beginning utterly clichéd and to some younger ones, it may sound depressing. But however much clichéd or depressing it might seem to be, almost always a crematorium ground is found capable of arising in one few questions: clichéd, depressing or agitating ones.

I am writing this post because honestly I feel agitated when a hardworking day labourer goes to bed without getting his due. And because the infectious fever allows some in the system to earn lakhs for doing nothing or for doing everything for themselves and not for the context or society they are embedded in; not for the society from which they derive their so called individuality. It is this disease which ought be weeded out. And precisely I wish to talk about education system in our country. While there are many teachers who work day in and day out for their students, (I have met such teachers. In fact I have a friend who prepares for her students as if she is to face world cup finals and impressive is the fact that she does that everyday.) there are others who give way to all the complacency inducing ingredients.

Agreed, binaries are inevitable. But do we need such binaries. Agreed that in every system there are few best, some mediocre and some not so good workers. But then wouldn’t it be great if those not so good ones find out what actually they are good at. Everybody has to anyhow ultimately wrap that crematorium white; so wouldn’t it be great if everyone finds out what they are good at doing rather than constipating the system; rather than wrapping the crematorium white much before their due.

Our system is in dire need of passionate workers.

Now, passion is when one is keen on passing to future generations what life taught them and it lies in stimulating minds of students to move ahead of bibliography and citations. When one realises that the original subject is life and not the pedantic alphabetical letters ( though alphabets might themselves contain a lot of life); when ‘why and how’ of things is clear to children, guardians, mentors, teachers.

Those who cause weeding, stagnation, constipation ultimately procreate stink. Hence thwarting the very aim of life: to study life. Who is interested in stink by the way? The answer would be ‘no one’. But at many places, institutions we are precisely involved in creating stink. And those who work to weed out that stink ultimately go to bed empty stomach.

We are interested in maintaining bodies; stinking bodies ( stink of complacency ).

There is definitely everybody’s truth but then truth is palatable when it smells good. Repetition and redundancy allergize the whole system if used beyond threshold. Life lies in attempting to make things beautiful. I know, this is much too clichéd than the beginning but life’s very nature is imbued with dissident contents which pulls us back from fragrance. And by being constipated, we will find ourselves standing in the same lane as those dissidents.

In this context, I unabashedly proclaim ( is proclaiming bad by the way?) :

Commitment perpetuates conviction; complacency is involved in perpetuation of constipation ( and constipation stinks).


Welcoming 2015



Nonverbal Communication-2




Nonverbal Communication-1



This is what I created in my nonverbal communication lectures. There are many more like these. I don’t know what they mean. While listening to the lecture my hands couldn’t stop themselves. They kept moving leading to conception of this meaninglessness.

Anybody wishing to research upon uncertainities, please do Heisenberg a favor, not me. This convoluted set which exists under my skull asks me to live with this uncertainty. It is so much more interesting.


From Personal to Universal: The Journey Begins

Disclaimer: Read at your own risk.

Experiences have valencies. No, this sentence is not written to indicate my background in chemistry. I have proof literature people use it too.


Valencies. Valencies turn experiences into memory. How??

I don’t know.

An experience is immortal. This is one universal truth. But why does it not die? May be cause it has got valencies. May be cause these valencies grounds them in one’s mind. What exactly are these valencies? I think or may be my educator makes me think that valencies are airy nothings, unheard melodies. Valency of an experience is something which helps in its survival, which helps in its propagation through time. They help in scribbling experiences as memories in one’s mind. They help in allocating them a space along with preexisting memories.

Anyways, let me now finally tell you why so much about experience and its “valency”. Actually, I wished to summarise one of them. Though experiences are beyond summarisation, I will try to attempt one as I am dared to dream.

Rest of the text is purely a product of my memory. And because I need material for my senile years, I ought record it here(stupid me, I joke). And may be for the juvenile reader like me, this will give a glimpse of what fabric stories are made up of.

The journey started with langda aam (amputated-mango) story. The question was why langda aam called so? And while this question culminated into the idea that we ought question common sense; that questions are the harbingers of mankind, we were also acquainted with the idea that answer is the dead end. While all this question-answer complexity surrounded us, we were simultaneously experiencing complexity without being consciously aware about it. The flag of the course unfurled the idea: complexity of awareness; awareness of complexity.

Though it is an almost impossible task, let me try to simplify the complexity I experienced. Once upon a time, a kid boarded a bus to school. On the way bus turned into Harry Potter’s flying car and then landed on Wordsworth’s lonely cloud ultimately landing in his crowd of Daffodils. In other words, the journey though seems like one of dreams, it is also its aim, it seems to help us move an inch or more towards bliss of solitude. Through indirections we are expected to find directions; to entertain, reflect and reform is our duty.

While singer of our group sang ‘jaaiye aap kahan jayenge”, I visited the land of melody. While theatre was rehearsed , I took a sigh of relief on a land away from science. While paintings were displayed, an urge asked me, “when are you going to become one with your medium, with your language?”

Gosh! This experience of transition from science to literature needs so many more words. I might write a whole book on it. Haha.

Before ciaoing, I would like to tell you that I felt so good when one of my classmates called me Hamlet. Once I had felt bad when I was addressed as Brutus. But then at that time, I didn’t know the story of Julius Caesar. So finally, I am all for Shakespeare and literary world. And I just hope I am not exaggerating. Earlier I was frustrated  with my confusion but now may be I should shake hands with the thought that “true knowledge lies in eternal state of confusion.”:)

May be.

The course will go on. The journey begins!! The journey will go on.


Darling Days

It has been long that I posted. My few, dear readers, this is to announce that now I am an official student of literature–the Sahitya. And this post of mine is intended to share how does it feel to be one.

Honestly, I think I am experiencing pure magic. I had only anticipated that exercising one’s mind could be so pleasurable. Taking flight of fancy is not prohibited here, though we are asked to stay grounded. And yes, all this might seem exaggerated, but then what to do if one falls in love with hyperboles.

I question myself time and again: what does it take to gift oneself and others a smile? No, no, don’t  worry I am not going to get preachy, I just wanted to share that how nothingness attacks one time and again, and how one sometimes yearn for the order in her life and how she wishes to save her day by meeting someone who could harmonise her disordered atomic composition.

May be yearning is a state of mind like everything else, but the solid fact is that it is palpable. It is in the air but this air can enter one’s being and make like it itself is, everything fluid inside her. I don’t know whether I wish to get across this yearning but this much I am sure of that this is fluidity has in it a rainbow and this rainbow is one of the most amazing things I have ever encountered.


The Sacred Pumpkin-The Sacred Job: Peepli Live- A Must Watch

Peepli Live depicts very impactfully a distorted understanding of the idiom, “Survival of the Fittest” by the media. While the phrase’s original meaning came out of the natural context, satirical representation of the working style of media in the movie makes us aware of the artificial context in which this badge is worn by its official associates.

G.B.Shaw’s Theory of Life-force directly or indirectly governs the Theory of Survival of the Fittest. Life-Force is the ultimate power. It governs a poor farmer as well as a media professional. But, one who tries to satiate his primary needs via that force is justified in his actions when compared to someone who claims : This is our job, this is what we do(unsaid though is , this is what we do to increase TRPs), if you cannot handle this, try something else..( dialogue in the movie by a journalist when she was asked why can’t they cover an ailing farmer who earns Rs20 by selling digged up earth, who has equal potential to depict farmer-suicide-loan problem).

Life-Force drives a farmer’s family and friends and community to become numb towards the love they ve had for him in order to celebrate the capital that might come out of his death.

In the movie it is shown that for media, TRP is the only life-force, however much artificial it might seem to believe and the one with highest TRPs has the best survival potential. To populate the existing TRPs is their job. In other words, the movie somehow communicates that media as a community is interested in hoarding of wealth while advertently denying that their and their countrymen’s real wealth lies in agriculture, in the farmer who propogates that agriculture; that media considers its job sacred come what may, even if that means covering somebody’s faeces in order to represent sad state of ISF- Indian Sanitation Facilities in rural areas or in actuality to facilitate generation of ISF- Indian simplistic Finance.



Come Back



I resolved that at thirty I would know more about poetry than any man living … that I would know what was accounted poetry everywhere, what part of poetry was ‘indestructible’, what part could not be lost by translation and – scarcely less important – what effects were obtainable in one language only and were utterly incapable of being translated.

In this search I learned more or less of nine foreign languages, I read Oriental stuff in translations, I fought every University regulation and every professor who tried to make me learn anything except this, or who bothered me with “requirements for degrees”.- Ezra Pound


The Emperor of Ice-Cream – Wallace Stevens






images (1)


Still I Rise- Maya Angelou



May the Phenomenal Woman RIP…



Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand:

Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!

-Edna St. Vincent Millay


And When I Started Thinking…

Today I was asked to analyze a poem. The exact question was, “write a critical assessment of the following poem by Seamus Heaney commenting on its title, theme, diction, imagery, rhythm and rhyme :


I write this post in order to share what I did before going to the answer sheet and then ultimately on the answer sheet.

I took one hour to get the meaning of this poem. Please know, that I saw the text as text only, no context. And seriously, I had not the minutest idea about the context of this work. Though I knew that Seamus Heaney is from Ireland and he got the noble prize; and that because he got the noble prize he must be writing  great poetry, I had no inkling about the kind of thing he is talking about in this poem.

The notion that great poetry always talks about some universal truth came into my course of one hour thinking and may be that ruined the probability of getting even a zero out of forty marks in the test. But right now, this feeling of being dilapidated is feeding the construction of this post. So I should not feel that much sorry about myself.

I tried to use all the faculties I had to get the thesis statement for this text. I tried a bit hard (and dare that silly smile approaching your face) as I did not know the meanings of the words “Requiem” and “Croppies”.

Hence, I started that guess work which always go wrong in exams. I guessed requiem’s meaning as replenishment and since ‘croppies’ has crop in it, I hope you understand subconscious faculties which automatically without much thinking can ask you to relate it to ‘crops’. And also since first line of the poem has barley in it, it becomes much obvious for subconscious to interpret what I did. (Note: I don’t like highlighting my mistakes again and again)

After reading the poem several times, I finally reached what according to me was its literal and figurative meaning. To decipher out that I did some coding-decoding. Let me enlist here all of that.

Greatcoats = coats which are great(literal) ; human beings(figurative)

Barley = resources for humans

Full of barley = so many resources

Although we have so much barley we have no kitchen to cook it(2nd line). Although we have so many resources we cannot cook them/ ourselves through them into eternity. We have become vagabonds in order to find peace.( we moved quick and sudden in our own country) because some God or nature kept introducing some or the other problem.

Priest = some God like entity/some human form through which God works to introduce into our lives problems which though ultimately make us wise but make us peaceless.

A people, hardly marching- on the hike = increasing number of people who don’t work, who force us into things we don’t want to do, who are God’s indirect messengers introducing problems into our lives.

Stampede cattle into infantry = like God/nature force us to do things ,during disaster we forced our fellow living beings to do what they didn’t want to, in order to find solution for our problems, in order to move from impermanence to permanence.

Then retreat through hedges where cavalry must be thrown= nature created for them such situation in which they had to live in dirty places where horses should be kept or thrown; again human superiority over fellow living beings

This one is ultimate.

Vinegar Hill = a figurative place where vinegar signifies acid and hence acerbic fatal conclave took place there ( acerbic fatal conclave = where everyone is irritated by everyone)

The hillside blushed = hillside is personified here and it blushed because now the hillside/nature has found a way to show off that it actually respect humanity. Respect humanity is shown when it blushes upon the intuition of coming of new life. As ‘our broken wave‘ = dead bodies will give way for new life, the hillside blushes that now it can experience new life.

I thought scythes is some underwater creature. 😀

Terraced thousands died, shaking scythes at cannon=  people irritated by natural calamities or life’s problems who met at the hill’s terrace died which sent tremors deep down the underwater. I thought he is talking about underwater because there is scythes in the line, which according to me is some underwater plant or creature.

And in August the barley grew up out of the grave = a sarcastic remark which states that in respect(show off) for work done by mankind (which ultimately see its decimation or movement into nothingness) on the resource present in full quantity in or near our human skin coat pocket, nature multiplies life or more resource as it says: the barley grow up out of the grave.

Are you still interested in my thesis statement?

I understand the fact that any teacher who is master of poetic art might kill me for doing this but I still was interested in recording this post in order to read, laugh or wonder at it a few years from now.

Now, if those of you who don’t know about this poem find yourself interested in reading the actual meaning and analysis of this poem might also get as bonus with that reading, your gaping mouths. 😁

Actually one must read the actual meaning and analysis of this work.( All respect for Mr. Heaney)




If You Give A Mouse A Cookie Syndrome

If You Give A Mouse A Cookie Syndrome.



WordPress was introduced to me by a friend. Since that introduction this blogging space has gradually become my niche. It has become a means of catharsis, entertainment, and knowledge.

Here, written word, photographs, videos, music, world of reading, research, and much more comes laced with the context of people’s lives, which is what I love the most. As I am inclined towards text I read individual worlds everytime I login. I have witnessed text from India, Germany, Canada, Netherlands, Japan, various American and United Kingdom nations, and from many more places. I have infact met very passionate foreign astrologers here and that surprises me as I had this preconcieved notion that astrologers no more exist outside India. And I did not take the trouble of clearing that doubt by researching online. So, a foreign astrologer was another discovery here. Just one thing I have started craving for now is text from extraterrestrial, outer space. If anybody from there happens to read this please feel free to comment. 😀