Wednesday, December 30, 2009


You tell me this story of your beloved everyday,
Whom you want to tell your love in many ways;
I advise you  like a sage of much experience
Without telling you anything of my story.

Who has not known, my dear, this agony,
Of unexpressed love that sank into silence,
Of a love that required more than poetry,
Mutual knowledge or entire life history.

For you and me wavered millions of times,
For you wanted to know me well enough,
Like the palm of your hand that I'd held,
While I took nothing seriously that time.

Whatever be the truth behind our silences,
It nudges you in the form of other new faces. 

Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Resolutions of 2009

It's been a long year, this 2009 and somehow I was not able to stick to  my  New Year Resolution that I had made this year- to write a page a day. 

Till June, I faithfully continued writing a page a day and blogging regularly. But then, ill health took over and I stopped my writing altogether. Still, I believe that I was able to do some work regarding my blog, which has occasional posts and is not at all a disappointment for me. I guess I bragged about writing a page a day and that finished my writing habit!  

Regarding my other New Year Resolutions ( to lose weight and get up early), however I was more or less successful. The first resolution was an indirect result of watching how the Indian actor Aamir Khan worked hard to gain his six pack abs. However, my plan was only partially successful because it was ill health that brought down the scales and no hard work or dieting. 

Getting up early in the morning was a mirage for me because of my habit of sleeping at around 2 a.m. It was solved when I got a job and started waking up at 7 and later paying off the sleep debt after work. This has been the practice on weekdays since September but on holidays, I sleep till noon. Still a far better me than before! 

Tuesday, December 15, 2009


Who knows when the eloquent falls in love
With your maddest saddest silences,
What strange contradictions arise,
When they want to listen to your words.

Still they listen baffled, tired, bored,
To endless conversations of pain,
While who knows their real motive,
Is it just to listen or gossip around?

With what gentle cues and many reasons,
Do they extract your wildest thoughts,
Along with your saddest experiences,
Just so they can know and be sure.

How can they know your silences,
If what they see is only sheer pain?

Monday, December 14, 2009

A wish

One wish can travel far
Or wide through time,
Whatever the day might be,
A wish that was never made
Aloud with words.

One wish with love
Uttered in silence
Before the altar of souls,
Can bring peace to you,
Wherever you are.

I have heard that you're gone,
Far into the unknown land,
Where I can never reach,
With my wishes or prayers
Or with loving messages.

May be it's another lie,
Like that one said
To win an epic war,
One told out of spite,
Just to bring tears.

One wish can travel far
Or wide through time,
Whatever the day might be,
A wish to bring a smile,
Wherever you might be.

Saturday, December 12, 2009


Two contradictory currents pull
This strange intellect
That loves to string words together
Or pull apart them in analysis.

The one that loves to string words
In wild garlands of ecstasy,
Is silent and rarely present,
While the other mocks daily.

The one that pulls apart words,
To gather meanings and rules,
To make wild guesses at context,
Never comes when needed.

One voice of wild creativity
That has no rules at all;
One voice of scholarship
That finds boundaries hard.

So this life remains still,
With a journal serious trivial
That rarely ever records
The failures of the scholar.

Monday, December 07, 2009


The thin cold fingers seep through every chunk in the soul,
Hatred of a high degree, much hidden by concerned words,
Much disguised by painted smiles and sharp insults,
For you to swallow and digest like those bitter pills daily.

Whom shall you trust in these times of embittered silence,
For each and every shoulder listens and remembers all,
To spring sudden surprises at a relaxed carefree self
That somehow is taken aback by the venom of words.

The venom of words that you spit when you are angry,
The tone of voice that carries deep dislike and jealousy,
One wrong word somewhere and you are driven again,
Once more into these same alleys that witness fights.

For a hatred of a higher degree bad words aren't enough;
It requires the art of cleverly wrapped insults and smiles.

Tuesday, December 01, 2009

Can you communicate freely without using the word "I"?

On a very formal occasion (Workshop on Research Methodology conducted by a reputed college in the city and that involved carefully crafted speeches by experts in the field of research) recently, I heard a friend of mine make a public speech about her experiences as a research scholar. Wide-eyed and eager, I listened in total appreciation laughing (shaking rather) at the right places and being taken back into the past by her amusing recounting of the sordid aspects of the life of a research scholar- facts such as giving in to distractions and writing that 'first draft'.

For let me make myself clear. I’m no research scholar though I pretended to curious neighbours and intrusive relatives that I have no intentions of getting married till I finished (or rather started) my research. Instead of plunging directly into this rather shocking (rather long) stream of study, I read books on research and spent my time online chatting, making friends with strangers and some rare writers who are unresearchable (interesting finds from the British Council library).

In the workshop, a key aspect highlighted was that there are two kinds of research scholars- failed and successful. She belonged to the successful kind of research scholar who made use of her lucrative scholarship and at the same time dived deep into a mysterious topic without any fears. While I was the failed kind, who wasted my scholarship and wavered between topics till the scholarship period expired successfully.

She spoke simply. Effortlessly. First, I was amazed at the way she combined the personal and the impersonal to create a realistic recreation of her experience, while maintaining a humorous perspective on the entire experience of being a research scholar. Her speech was an inspiration because it portrayed the reality of an experience, which is too daunting for the beginner.

Like the proverbial blind men describing the elephant, normally the experts and the successful speak as if their experience is the ultimate and final. . But here she spoke of research as she saw it: complex yet feasible.

Similarly, she spoke of her personal views and idiosyncrasies rather unselfconsciously. Usually when scholars (read successful) speak of their achievements and methods, there is an element of bragging that repels the common (read failed) listener. Now, in an amusing way, she spoke of her addiction to video games and her obsession with her research topic as well. I was wondering how different I am from her. Forgive my egotism, I'm by nature self-conscious (unless I'm dressed up to the nines or in a very chirpy frame of mind) scarcely referring to myself in direct speech (Disclaimer: This statement is based on a fictional assessment of myself as a person) as if it's a form of boasting to say "I". While in writing, I cannot write a sentence without writing "I".

Where did I get such a belief I do not know but I apologise so much before revelations that it has become a kind of terrifying mantra. Even this blog was supposed to have a trivial element much experienced as a result of this shocking “tongue” that apologises first and shocks next. But somewhere along the way this electrifying character was lost to a kind of tongue-tiredness ( a total refusal to talk about the past, the self and experiences).

This speech made my friend made me think (something that I rarely do and something that oftengives me headaches ) about my sense of “I” so much that it changed my life from the moment of enlightenment. It opened my inner eye so wide that I lost my sight temporarily and chattered incessantly to any ear willing to listen about the unspeakable "I" known as me, taking inspiration  from the inspiring friend ( she will be stoned to death and her flesh thrown to piranhas if I continue in this euphoric state for a longer time ; of course by the poor bored hungry sleepy dozing  listeners) who spoke so freely about herself, "as if her life was an open book" to quote her own words uttered some years back.

Monday, November 30, 2009


Eternal and strong, water-like, your love comes to me,
With the aid of silences and a few gestures of affection.
Where else can you come, when denied a real meeting,
You choose to drape yourself with words in dreams.

Ideal and true, my shy one, you shine bright in words,
When all the others have gathered here around me,
To know the truth with its many facets and versions,
Your memory lights up my soul with more words.

Witty and understanding, you past antics bring laughter
And so many words piled up on pages and pages,
So many lost, so many forgotten, so many yet to be,
All that found shape around an unforgettable you.

The one behind the words is ineffable, magical, eternal,
So apart from all the ones who think they spur words.

Friday, November 27, 2009


Where have all those days gone, those of laughter
And of tears, when beside the huge river green,
A childhood was spent in thousand creepy fears,
Taken out of my grandmother's long night tales.

Where have all those tastes of childhood gone,
Mangoes plucked from the neighbour's orchard,
The sweet bites of freshly cut sugarcane stems,
Along with jaggery sweets from next-door kitchen.

Where have all those big dreams of life gone,
Playing doctor with sharp pencils as syringes,
Of travelling around the world in eighty days,
Of being Edmund Dante or the Musketeers.

Those childhood days beside the river green
Are now long-faded photographs and memories. 

Wednesday, November 25, 2009


You and I have come so far after travelling the miles together and apart. If you look back, the growth has been amazing. For you will see that I have changed beyond recognition and am much devoid of my often boasted scholarship; instead what i have gained from life is a sour temper and vaguery in every field. While you , who never bothered to read any scrap of paper except the titillating have become a bookworm, who boasts of every little piece of knowledge you have gained. Still the contrast is amazing in that you still look forward to me like you used to do; while I live a dual life- the past and the present.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009


What learning can books give once you lose your head?
Once you lose your head to the voices inside your head,
The conflicting voices that opine for and against,
Each and every action and emotion in your mind.

For whom, will you turn to when your heart speaks,
In two languages, one of desire and one of fear,
Hesitating between the two like at crossroads
And shudder at the thought that your life is gone.

Gone with the web of thoughts that doesn't exist,
Gone with the lack of concentration this state brings,
The original you is buried somewhere someplace,
Somewhere in the past when brilliance shone.

All you can ever do is make a show of brilliance,
When your head is empty; just like others do.

Monday, November 23, 2009


The silences formed her nature;
When for others words came easy,
For her words were clumsy, gauche.

They came in left-handed strokes,
At inopportune times and slashed,
Through many hearts like knives.

That’s not what she had wanted,
All she wanted was to bring smiles,
And show people how she cared.

Instead she watched others do it;
Bring smiles and wipe others’ tears,
Or soothe a lonesome broken heart.

Silences remained her language until,
She was loved; made to laugh aloud, 
Forget her tears, with loving words.

Monday, November 16, 2009


We sat on the sands watching the sun set,
Splashing many hues from a vibrant palette,
What shades of blue, grey, red and orange,
Etched against a mass of blue ocean.

The waves beat against the sandy shore,
While crowds gathered to step into water,
Toddlers and children, laughing wildly,
While we watched and took in the scene.

Now, many seasons have come and gone,
The shades have become only lovelier,
While the light of love that once was there,
In your eyes have faded with the seasons.

No words are enough to describe that light,
Or the brilliant hues of the setting sun.

Sunday, November 15, 2009


Taste that magical drop and dip and dive,
Once more in oceans of words and desire;
The nights of togetherness are back again
That were cast aside with passing time.

A few moments of all-forgetting banter,
Though the rains torrent along with storms,
Once again in the candlelight, love flickers,
Till its fire can brighten the darkened home.

With no power and no distractions of media,
With hours that drop into the slow hourglass,
With food bought on order from outside
And chores that can wait till the power supply-

A sudden power failure slows your weekend,
But brings big surprises like romance and fun.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Funny Advice

Beauty Advice given on my Cleanser( I don't think I need to explain it):

Apply on a cotton pad mornings and evenings before using any other care products.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009


You pretend to laugh at my jokes; but I see your face clearly though I may not always see it. Your voice betrays your hatred at what I have done and what I failed to do.You think that your hesitation is much better than my total change of plans. But looking deeply, you wil find that the spirit is same; too much thought that leads to much inaction and nowhere in life.

You think about finding answers in logic; while I depend on intuition and the flow of the moment. Who are you to blame me for crumbling before mighty forces? For I would never have crumbled, my dear, if you listened to what pained my heart when it mattered. Nobody did. All you did was to laugh a queer laughter at my craziness and sudden loss of intelligence.

Now, I find that you and me, the best of all allies have become strangers in a strange land and crave for love from kind strangers, though what lies behind us is a mighty past full of great dreams and common likes. For you, who never cared for the word "honour" shirk at my sight because I have thrown mud at your so-called honour that never mattered anyway.

Friday, November 06, 2009

Playlist of the Day

These are the Malayalam tracks that I'm listening to right now at raagaonline:
  1. Chandana Cholayil from Sallapam
  2. Mounasarovarom from Savidham
  3. Pathiramazhayetho from Ulladakam
  4. Saagarangale Paadi from Panjagni
  5. Manjal Prasadavum from Nakhaksthangal

Thursday, October 29, 2009

Indiblogger of the Month

This blog Journal-Serious and Trivial by MS Joy aka Suneetha is nominated among 185 blogs for the Indiblogger of the Month Contest. This time, the hunt is for original poetry and the following are the posts that were sent in for the contest:
  1. Tiny Feet
  2. Tonight
  3. Forget
  4. Melodies New
  5. Remembrance
Enjoy reading!

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Empty Pages

A page a day was a dream,
Except on space-less Sundays
Which had no blank pages
In my diary with green cover.

I bought this at first sight,
When this shade of green
Brought back to my mind,
The sheen of a river green.

This river in a distant land,
Shimmers in sunlight,
Flows with a graceful ease
Unlike these words.

For words have seasons;
They've dried up with years.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009


There are days when life is swamped by opportunities and lack of them at the same time. Like there are two three people ringing you up with some project or the other that has to be completed simultaneously. Sometimes all turn out to be in vain as well. But who can explain such a phenomenon of attracting several possibilities at the same time, all glittering and bright; only to feel the pain of rejection.

Monday, October 26, 2009


I like reading about authors and how they create their works. Earlier, I wanted to write a novel that contained the best possible writing that I could do. But somehow writing a novel looks like a daunting task now because of its too time consuming and I realise as years pass by that I'm turning too unimaginative for such a kind of literary effort.

This is no sob story; but that kind of visualisation or imagination is not there with me right now. But even this hue and cry about being a kind of literary failure is illogical; but that's what makes me churn out all these words right now. Reading about NaNaWriMo has spurred this outburst; mainly because there are people who try and fail; but I sadly belong to those set of people who logically analyse the probabilities of winning and never try.

Sunday, October 25, 2009

Scattered thoughts from a rambling pen

I don't know when this started; but somehow life has fallen into a maze. The main thing that I notice about it is the simple inability to put things in their right places; like a disordered life, a disordered mind and a disordered room. It's like I know what's wrong but lack the energy to lift a book that has fallen from the table, to set right a calendar that runs two months late and many other lazinesses.

May be it's my health or may be just inertia. But there are things that interest me everyday like getting up in the morning and checking mail ( or reading the newspapers) first thing in the morning. Earlier as a young maiden, I was a orderliness freak that could make my classmates cry in amazement- easily readable home-made labels on bookspines, file divisions for subjects, cleanliness, lists and what-not.

Now, life is full of inertia. Add to it, the pain in my shoulders when I strain myself for a long time. Never thought of it as a serious medical problem or anything but that prevents me from doing quite a lot of things that I want to do. Still at some invisible level, there is an order to days; an invisible level of control that keeps a check on reality and divides all the chores into the urgent and unimportant.

But a few tasks like folding clothes or doing a complete cleaning session of the room and all its contents is too improbable; for they are made of tiny ignored tasks that piled up one on the other.
May be writing it out helps this inertia a little!

Saturday, October 24, 2009

Words at midnight

At times, I have found out that my otherwise lazy mind works overtime at night and produces word after word in perfect order as if somebody was using my mind as a blank page to write upon. At such times, I feel that even if I record these words, I might not be able to record them all.

Last night was such a night and I couldn't sleep at all, thinking of all the unwritten words. When I finally put them to shape, they had lost their original magic. Just words on why I cannot write as I could do earlier. So if at all I write a classic that will definitely be titled "My story about why did not succeed as writer, person, teacher or a social being!" Amen!

Wednesday, October 14, 2009


He sits silent in his favourite armchair. No words, nothing ever comes out of him. One so famous for order and discipline, now sits crouched in a corner. His senses have discarded him.

Now and then, he poses a question about the time, place and welfare of his kids. Some pretend not to have heard him. But when a fond face steps before him, though it has grown much in age and in pain, his dispassionate face breaks into a smile and he asks: “When did you come?”

Once more an era steps before him when he danced to the whims of a fatherless little girl who watched television sitting in his lap, for whom he bought sweets that vanished in a few minutes and with whom he wandered in this new city.

All the stories that are told about his partial loss of memory, his absent-mindedness and lack of consciousness are proved wrong when I, who call him Bapu, may be the first grand-daughter who named a grandfather (with a name that he used to sign his letters) steps into his view.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009


When I look at my friends who move around crowds with the ease of chameleons and get admiring glances from others, I understand that I have none of this charming nature about me. An ordinary face that provokes laughter, some weird actions that create contempt and a strange nature that does the wrongest things at the right time.

Not that it was always like that. A few days were there; when love was everything; when sky was the limit but who can blame one who was hurt by the beloved. For life has never become the same again; the hope has faded; trust in people has disappeared and all that is left is a little irony and a lot of skepticism and a lot more of silence.

Monday, October 12, 2009


There are times when I have wanted you back; like we were always to each other; two opposites like water and fire; dark and shade; halves that could set right whatever was wrong in our lives.

For you lacked life and I lacked peace; but a strange fate put everything right for us before it went wrong again. But once shattered, the halves are never the same. Can you ever touch your heart and say that my absence has never made any difference in your life? I cannot.

For every day has passed like a punishment and every joy left unshared; all because of your magnanimity and your worship of rules, customs and traditions. For now, more than ever, my anger erupts at your foolishness in crumbling a love that was the best that could ever be.

Aftter the break is over

Who founded the commercial break? Well, earlier it meant that you can hurry, ease your hunger or thirst and run back to your favourite TV show or movie. Now it means that you are exploded with advertisements coming one after the other, some as meaningless as Beckett's Waiting for Godot or some as horrible in their portrayal of reality. Some channels even show a recap of the ongoing movie after each commercial break. Good for the viewer, because you often forget which goddamn movie you were watching till the break came. The same advertisements again and again till you forget not just the storyline, but even the fact that you were watching a movie.

Oh, you might advise me to swap the channel till the commercial break is over. Well, that's an option you can try when you are sitting alone and have the remote and the TV watching space to yourself. A single flip of the remote can bring about wars that can last till the end of the world. For then, the status quo is retained: who wants the remote game, where the fittest survive. Even more, elders are often irritated when youngsters keep on swapping channels tone after the other. But still that does not change the situation most viewers are facing everyday, when they are bombarded with all kinds of illogical advertisements for products they don’t use or need while waiting for that final moment when the movie they were watching and have half-forgotten emerges after the commercial break.

Not that I don’t enjoy advertisements. But still I cant bear watching movies especially in channels that don’t show any recaps. More important than that is the need for having a review for advertisements, something that can change an advertisement based on viewer reviews.

Sunday, October 11, 2009


The songs have changed with the seasons. All songs now taste of that sweet sense of expectation- the wait for the rain cloud and its joy on caressing the earth.

This earth that was dry and parched has signs of new life sprouting everywhere. No longer, the days are spent eyeing the cheerful faces around a new wonder.

The wonder is here finally; in its time; not too fast nor too slow; right at the time when it can bring about new bursts of pelting affection from all around.

Saturday, October 10, 2009

Good Reads

Four books that I read this month are:
  • The Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri
  • The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri
  • Moving on by Shashi Deshpande
  • The White Tiger by Aravind Adiga
Surprisingly, Moving On was amazing in its gradual unravelling of the story that was both touching and awesome while Lahiri surprised me with her evocative style and beautifully constructed stories.

Friday, October 09, 2009

Playlist of the day

These are the Malayalam songs that I'm listening to right now:
Hope you enjoy them as well!

Tuesday, September 22, 2009


When life started each morning was a blessing; each hour a time to celebrate. The sacred chants held a great mystery that could elevate the soul from its drabness. Now, every moment is a long drag, a step heavily drawn, from habit to habit, from place to place, without energy.

For with all its idealism, life was real from the first few years. Then you came along with your positive messages and need for miracles. Somehow, my touch with reality was lost in the same moment. No wonder, I prayed for wonders spending sleepless nights hands spread before the holy icon.

Nothing happened but a slow withdrawal into silence and a coldness that replaced the early joviality. At times, when the heart forgets its long lost desire, the one dream that mattered more than anything else on earth and rejoices in whatever has fallen into these little hands without asking.

Only on those moments, this life comes real and turns into pages of quite happiness quite unlike the loud but blessed ones who celebrate their happiness in the streets with splashes of colour and loud music. Here, only a smile shines quietly to fade again.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Blue hues

Everything is blue, this evening.
It's been a time of recollection,
To remember with sharp regret,
A broken dream from yesterday.

A string of unforeseen words,
Suddenly sprinkled on a page,
And in its shadows a dream hid,
Holding together its angst.

The blue of a showy bracelet,
Hung with minute stars and shapes,
The blue of the galloping waves
That cause you to tremble

A dream remembered upsets,
A heart that remained too placid.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009


It was in the shadows of this morning that you appeared in a dream, once again. Reassurance, remembrance and reciprocation, you promised while I held your hand as easily and gently as I've always have, in my dreams.

For it was easy to be us in the dreams as opposed to the dreary reality that drew borders and boundaries in our minds every day. How else can you explain how a love of a lifetime faded in ten seconds of doubt and months of hesitation?

That sense of your face so close to mine or your mere presence in my life has ceased to be miracles; for they are as far and away as lost friends and childhood memories. But these light years have covered more distances in the long wait for an expression of love.

In the meantime, the world has crumbled, shook with quakes, burnt and thrashed yet has come alive with every baby step or baby smile. Still we walk together in dreams with the same spirit and hearts brimming with love as on our first walk in the rain.

Saturday, September 05, 2009

Blogger is back!

Right now, it's raining outside. Somehow, my fascination with the rain has kept me awake. I don't know how longer I'm going to stay awake at this midnight hour listening to the sound of this heavy rain. It's a great feeling of being one with nature.

This blogger was for a time ill; sick with diseases probably interesting only to my own doctor (no intentions of boring anyone with inessential details). Yesterday, I seriously thought that my blog, my favourite sacred space for a long time has stopped being so and has died out.

My day was not that interesting. The only excitement was the run to rescue the clothes left for drying from getting soaked almost completely, while the whole running exercise and the quick bath in the rain did a lot of good to cheer up my "I'm ill- not upto to anything" spirits.

Friday, September 04, 2009

Writing Crisis


It took no longer than a minute to see how you have changed from my dearest friend to the snob you are. Your every word reflects an arrogance that to the unobserved eye is like obedience; your mouth full of advice that you don't think twice before delivering.

How can I be so cruel as to judge you when I do not judge many who are lost and confused. Well, I can see through your pretenses because you can never pretend to be someone you are not, with a friend who has listened to your ramblings unedited.

Not just that, I hear though in silence, whatever that goes beyond that cunning eyes of yours. No wonder a friend one advised me to be wary of you and I never heeded. It is a shame that you speak highly of yourself before me who is the only one who is aware of your shortcomings.

But stranger is my heart who always defended you before everyone and fought hard to be friend in spite of all your big talk and our differences, trying now hard to put my hate to words, hard words so that nothing is erased from my mind.

Wednesday, September 02, 2009

Happy Onam

We celebrated Onam with a home-made feast of over 2o tasty dishes, prepared by my mother-in-law. It's my first Onam at the new place and I was given charge of cutting vegetables and setting the table. Interestingly, this is the first time that I have followed the traditions of Onam and it was great.

Tuesday, September 01, 2009

Baby Birds inside nest

Here is a view(though dark) of the baby budgies inside the nest. If you look closely, you can see a tiny little bird moving around.

Friday, August 21, 2009


Genuine ignorance is... profitable because it is likely to be accompanied by humility, curiosity, and open mindedness; whereas ability to repeat catch-phrases, cant terms, familiar propositions, gives the conceit of learning and coats the mind with varnish waterproof to new ideas. ~John Dewey

Well dressed, well-spoken and with a tone that might put to shame the ancient serpent that charmed Eve are the fashionable people around me who boast of anything and everything, from a tidbit of knowledge scrapped from the edges of a ten rupee quote book to the new brand faith that they propagate in the virtues of the previous generation.

They speak hours about nothing closed in rooms that reek of some artificial scent or the other that brings a bout of sneezing or a cold. The words are worse, praising ones who are absent while closing the eyes deliberately to the ones who slug hard to keep their work-worlds intact. A good word for a good deed is the last thing; but lapses, quicker to find than a daisy in a room full of laptops.

Led by charm, they live and die, lives of exasperation, when the strange lady with cat-like eyes and a lousy mouth comes with her beauty and eat their brains right away. Held transfixed in gazes across those closed rooms, all you need is a call from a friend to distract you for at least a while.

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Blogger on leave

A few days away from my favourite space. The blogger who posts here is on leave for a few days, sick with fever. More posts, when she comes back after the break!

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Re-reading "Tintern Abbey" by Wordsworth

Recently, I re-read William Wordsworth's "Composed a few miles above Tintern Abbey, On revisiting the Banks of Wye during a Tour, July 13, 1798" officially known as "Tintern Abbey" to all literature students. While, I was reading the poem (later teaching it as well), it suddenly occurred to me that the consciousness that Wordsworth talks about in the poem is something that modern people are trying hard to achieve: harmony with nature.

For the poet, nature was a form of escape in his early years. Later she became "all in all" to him- "the anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,/The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul/ Of all my moral being". When weighed by the troubles of the world, he could easily think about the beautiful scenes of nature and forget his sorrows.

This habit of storing the sights and sounds of nature in his mind's eye helped him to recollect such sights when he wanted them. Such memories flooded his mind, filled it with tranquility and gave rise to a pleasant frame of mind devoid of all angst. Such a tranquil mood increased in its intensity until the poet was no longer aware of the functions of his body and instead became a living soul that partakes in the mystery of the universe.

Wordsworth describes his hour of ecstasy as:

...that blessed mood,
In which the burthen of the mystery,
In which the heavy and the weary weight
Of all this unintelligible world,
Is lightened:--that serene and blessed mood,
In which the affections gently lead us on,--
Until, the breath of this corporeal frame
And even the motion of our human blood
Almost suspended, we are laid asleep
In body, and become a living soul:
While with an eye made quiet by the power
Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,
We see into the life of things.

For the poet, this poem tracks his growth as a mature person from the immature boy he was. It shows the poet as meditating on nature, which is commonly used to calm the monkey mind in meditation.

Note- Read an interesting article about the need for being close to nature from Charity Focus.

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