The sky seems to be sloshed today and as the rain falls bringing with it the gentle fragrance of the frangipani, I cannot help but tell myself that I am the interpreter of my own soul and my own being. I have a kismet, a destiny and I am fulfilling it without compromising my dignity. That for me is a woman of substance; a woman looking straight at me from the perfect hand carved Belgian mirror. Am I being illogical? I don't know. Sometimes, I feel that logic is an impediment in the path of emotions and feelings. So if I am driven by feelings, it is because I am not a machine or a programmed robot to feel in a certain way and to react in a perfectly balanced manner at all times. I don't want logic. I don't want the exact arithmetic of living and breathing. I want poetry. The poet's spirit addresses the woman hidden in me and she is worthy of love and she is worthy of the flame of poetry. I care for myself. I care that I exist and I care that one day when I leave this planet, someone, somewhere will read one of my obscure poems and say- I felt like this. Any person who is older than me and claims that he has unparalleled experience in love, relationships and life, needs to know that it is not the time that we have spent on earth but how we have made use of that time and experience that counts in the end. Love has its seasons but love is not a series and it is certainly not temporary. Love is larger than life and in its generosity we find that it can overwhelm us and sometimes leave us confused. The innumerable contradictions, confusions and complexities that it hurls in our face can make us feel, at times, that life is nothing but a series of tragedies. It makes us question our own convictions to such an extent that there are hollow moments when we gaze at the ceiling and ask ourselves- Why me? Why now? Is this a parable? Is this a fantasy? Is this a reality?, and the quest goes on and on. However, the answers remain buried within us. We just stumble on them when the time is right. So going back to being a woman of substance, I'd like to say that she is not an angel or a celestial being. She does not dance to the theatrics of superficial beauty. She does not need anybody to validate her beauty just because she looks a certain way. She is born with an inner treasure that very few can see and those who do see it, find the last song of sunshine in her eyes. It takes a very special person to know this soul and when the collision takes place, it is seeing without looking, it is knowing without meeting. And such meetings are planned by the souls even before people meet each other. It takes a special kind of love and it takes a special kind of heart to tie this knot. The last song of sunshine is just a beginning and the story goes on....
© Jaspreet Mann. The Last Song of Sunshine. All Rights Reserved.