Skip to main content

There was

There was a secret chord
That managed to lift my mood
There was a secret key
That managed to turn me

There was a special place
That managed to help me be
There was a special room
That managed to make me happy

There were so many things
There were so many joys
There were so many little beings
That no longer are the same

There were too many things
For me to care about anymore
There still are a few
But they're different
Just like me

-Poetic Fanatic
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Hey guys! Thanks for stopping by! I'd love to hear your thoughts and suggestions, so be sure to leave a comment!

Popular posts from this blog

A chameleon by Anton Cekhov

Hello everyone! Today I'm introducing a new series to my blog, called World Wednesday. I am not planning on posting these every week, but when I do, I will post about any piece of literature I’ve read that is set in a different culture, religion, country, state, continent, etc. It will be a window for people to share their opinions on literature that is outside of their comfort zones, and hopefully inspire them to read and learn more about other cultures. In a world that is so interconnected, it is important for us to know about other people's lives.   For this first post, I will be writing about "A Chameleon" by Anton Chekhov, a short satire set in Russia.
Post a Comment
Read more

Coromandel Fishers by Sarojini Naidu

Hello! For this post I will be exploring another poem written by Sarojini Naidu, called "Coromandel Fishers". This poem can be taken as an allegory, for although it speaks to fishermen, it's metaphoric value speaks to the nation, and can be considered a wakening call for the people of our country. When I wrote about "In the Bazaars of Hyderabad", I mentioned that Sarojini Naidu was one of our freedom fighters, and believed greatly in the Swadeshi movement. Naidu reflects her passion for India in this poem.
7 comments
Read more

I cannot remember my mother by Rabindranath Tagore

 The poem has been titled " I cannot remember my mother". It attracted me for some reason, for I thought that surely, a poem couldn't be completely empty. There had to be some form of nostalgia, or memory in a poem about no remembrance.  I realized after reading it, that I was right. In fact, the poem's title can be considered an oxymoron. However, the extent to which this poem is nostalgic, the amount of tiny details in this poem, wow. But I don't suppose Tagore was a Literature Nobel Laureate for nothing. This poem has sensitized its audience to the poet's colossal loss, though the poet ,it seems,has made no effort to do so. There is nothing superfluous about his writing, and the poem seems like a true expression of his love for his mother. It talks about how his mother managed to leave her presence on everything before she passed away, and how those little memories of his,form an incomplete memory of his mother.
Post a Comment
Read more