The good moments in life can be sheathed in songs and poems. They can be in penned in Haikus and Odes, or within the confines of the 14 lines of a sonnet. They can be whispered in midnight confessions, away from the prying daylight eyes. Ironically at that time, darkness is safety.
The best moments, however, always leave someone speechless. This is why you can stare at that which you adore and lack words to vocalize its perfection. Speechless enough that I cannot confess how I felt as the sonnet delicately pierced my soul. I equate the feeling to walking barefoot on dewy grass, as the blades cradle the sole gently like silken thread. It’s like a tactical voyage triggered by each blade, where each step is a brush stroke on the fresh canvas that glistens as the earth awakens. It is like the gentle melody that permeates the air when the birds whisper the tale of a new life with no past regrets. It is on dewy grass that barefooted souls find a poetic refuge.
Eventually, every perfect thing must come to an end. And so when the high from the best fades to the good and words find you, it can be summarised in a sonnet like this…
“A hundred thousand birds salute the day:
One solitary bird salutes the night:
Its mellow grieving wiles our grief away,
And tunes our weary watches to delight;
It seems to sing the thoughts we cannot say,
To know and sing them, and to set them right;
Until we feel once more that May is May,
And hope some buds may bloom without a blight.
This solitary bird outweighs, outvies,
The hundred thousand merry-making birds
Whose innocent warblings yet might make us wise
Would we but follow when they bid us rise,
Would we but set their notes of praise to words
And launch our hearts up with them to the skies”
That Little Girl Debudebu 