বাংলায় লিখি

শনিবার, জুন ১৯, ২০১০

The tree of love

How not to sound trite with words? Especially with the theme that dictates every true emotion and every true thought in a human life - love. The fantastic idea that is love in a youthful heart becomes a solar systemic truth in maturity. A truth as commonplace as the sun that we see every morning, and therefore the wonder of it is sapped away. With hard experience of loss, and grief, and separation, bitter experience like a sharp blade peels away those sensitive emotions of the youthful mind. Because in a youthful mind, even the agony of love is beautiful and worthy of every attention. When we speak of love, it is the force that bonds us with any other life, or any other experience of this world. I would not know where the boundary of the love of Rabindrasangeet ends and the love of Rabindranath begins. In that undefined territory of this mysterious realm, the only guide to any analysis is borne by the truth that the heart could perceive. And each in its own way.

The reason I keep thinking about this most sought after, most desired emotion of the animal kingdom, is because, as commonplace as it seems, and as trite as it sounds, we know that there is the fear of losing it within our own selves. We know this, because of the sharp blade that has gradually peeled into our core, and with insanity and cruelty severed a sensitive outer shell of our youth and vulnerability, and gradually, again and again, with many experiences that life must bring.

It is a sad day when we realize we are no longer young -- but it may be even more sad to know that we lost our youthful spirit which enabled us of loving and being loved.

Do we really lose all in this game of life? Or is love a steadfast force that is not so easily lost in our animal hearts? I use the word animal, because I do not wish to think this emotion is only a human emotion. I rather feel that it is something that nature has provided us with our evolution, manifesting in different forms in different species. Even within species, the variation of its expression is wide and open.

But coming back to the question of love, when the love of something or someone seems to be lost over the years, is that like the blank slate that everyone talks about? If love were true, then it did etch those stars in the sky. And it did set afire the blossoms of the spring. And it did fill our well of wholesomeness. How else would the old poet write the song that only a young at heart could identify with? Has he not had his share of life-altering cyclonic and evolutionary experiences?

Touching our lives in a meditative contemplation (something I am sad to say, has escaped our fate and attention these days, in the fast paced corporate life) where nothing seems to matter except just being, touching the immediate moment, those stars that were truly etched seem to be there still, behind the clouds, shielded by the strong rays of the day. And those blossoms that were set on fire in spring, happen to be fragrant still, in our hearts, and perhaps, of others. And that well of wholesomeness is as quietly tranquil as ever.

That is why I imagine, love is like the tree that has grown and grown, and bears the mark of each year's experience in its trunk -- invisible to the naked eye, and has its seasons of life and death. Every spring, it remembers its well of selflessness and abundance, and bears fruit and flowers like any one else, and is not afraid to shed its dead parts for regeneration. The wavering, flying branches of its dancing youth are no more, but it still has boughs that float in the air and sparkle in the sun. The tree of love will never forget the gifts of nurture it has received in its early days. How can it, because they are the moments of its lifetime. It will never forget the birds' company in harsh seasons, reminding it of its own lost song. And it will not forget that nothing that it ever brought to life will be lost.

Finally, a transcreation of lyrics from Tagore, who almost always has a song as vivid as a sunlit teardrop, to express whatever is wanting of expression,

Touched by your heart
Those enabled of love,
Grateful, have they received
The dawning of pure vision

A love saving them the despair
Of slander, sorrow and grief
Bracing them
From trials familial

Their footsteps finding a home
On unfolding pathways,
Meeting restfulness
Amidst trying tasks

Within you secure are they
Soaring with free spirit,
Heeding beyond darkness

লেবেলসমূহ: ,

0টি মন্তব্য:

একটি মন্তব্য পোস্ট করুন

এতে সদস্যতা মন্তব্যগুলি পোস্ট করুন [Atom]



এই পোস্টে লিঙ্ক:

একটি লিঙ্ক তৈরি করুন

<< হোম