Poetry: In solitude, melancholy…

It has been months now,

A pale ochre lamp has become my morning sun.

The world has changed, they say

It limps in peace, and there’s nowhere to run.

 

Fortunately, my winter shawl remains the same

It offers some solace in darkened green,

Everything else is bathed in grey,

Or in the darkness, better still, cannot be seen.

 

The Buddha on my desk says, in all your solitude,

You have immersed in deeper melancholy

And I say, isn’t it only natural, intrinsic?

To slowly sink in deep - a life of gravity.

 

Solitude is a boon at times, it gives you space

To see yourself in its purest form,

Raw, imperfect, and a sadness deep

That can raise within, a thousand storm

 

But I assure Him, this melancholy has its lustre too

It’s not all dark like a lump of pain –

In all its tears, it celebrates

And its emptiness fills you up again.

 

And once you know you are callused strong,

The pretentious world impacts you none,

You look inside, and you pray inwards,

After all, there’s that much brightness in the sun…

 

20^th June, 2020

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People often consider melancholy as harmful, depressing, and sad. I would argue, not as a poet but as a philosopher, that melancholy goes beyond. It descends upon you like a cloudy day, yet it helps you introspect, and then if you learn to resonate yourself with it, melancholy becomes a celebration . Then there is no longer sadness. Instead, there is the strength to drown with the burdens of sorrow and resurface not with a smile, but with the ability to conquer sadness. In that state, you realise that you are your last refuge; that sometimes, there’s that much brightness in the outer sun…