As the first streaks of dawn crept,
The precinct of our backyard garden
Was flushed and got readily swept,
My eyes fell on this beautiful form,
Astounded, impulsive, I stood there
Without a fall of eyelid,
And here I share,
The aura, tenor, tone and time,
Poignant, perfect and pristine....
Art thou to be plucked and sacrificed?
Nay, thou art the mother Herself!
Yo-Yo ing, with joy,
Swaying and swinging,
The touch of the soft breeze...
Softer than a Bubble,
Sweeter than the childhood,
Deeper than a memory.
Composed by Sharmistha Chatterjee
Photo : This is the blessed rose that so inspired this poem.
AN APPRECIATION OF A CLASSIC COMPOSITION
Ah, what a composition! Poetic perfection itself. What beauty, balance and depth in joy, spontaneous, sublime, yet, so real with not a syllable more or less as the words have flown out like oozing dewdrops from the first fertile heart in springtime's first awakening! Whatever be written now by way of appreciation is turning profane as the perfection of poesy leaves no room for such save to mutely savour the scene spelt out in such sublimity that words and images have fused and diffused to render the worship whole.
When the lines flashed in my path this morn, I was as taken in by them as you were by the rose that lit up your dawn. It was a revelation to me as to your potential as a poetess of singular sympathies. This poem could easily have been passed off as having been composed by a great poet or poetess of the past of the Romantic or the Victorian Period and none could have guessed that it was not so. This clearly shows that great art transcends the boundaries of time and space as here we discover its dewy instance. It is a request that this poem be preserved for posterity to savour as well and that the hour may not merely behold it in rapture. As such this softness in metre must be saved in hard letters as well to freshen its fragrance when memory fades and with a wild rush of summer dreams it will flood the being once again.
On a personal note let me admit that I can scarce even dream of ever composing such a poem perfect, such a composition complete that is replete with all the features of high art, of a symphony in sound that may only happen one fine morn when the soul resonates thus to the thrill of Nature and the words flow out in ecstatic delight in pulsation with the blossoming of this beautiful rose. This poem is perfect, this composition complete even as a single work of art is the whole body of art itself when the divine graces every element of its expression. Most of the compositions that enthral us the first time, decay in their appeal overtime but this one shall not. I say it has beaten time somehow and shall endure in its appeal even as the years roll on and the seasons flush out fresh blossoms to bring back memories of a distant dawn that shall never fade thus. And so will these lines linger as a never-failing source of perennial joy, pure and pristine. Thank you, Sharmistha, for having been the channel for all of us to enter the realm of beauty.
Written by Sugata Bose
No comments:
Post a Comment