Poetry
by Emily Dickinson
“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -
And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -
I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.
The gap
between
knowing and doing
can be as wide
as a universe
says Debbie
Bridging it is
a struggle
a daily toil
and on some
luminous days
sometimes succeed
in narrowing
the gap
and even slip
from doing
to being
This poem was posted on Twitter by R Sriram in response to a Confucian Proverb I posted: “It’s not the knowing that is difficult. But the doing.”
Sriram is not just a voracious reader, but one of the most thoughtful people I have met. The lines he posted struck a chord with me someplace.
Vikram Seth
And because I am in one of those rare moods when I appreciate poetry, allow me to share one of my favorite Vikram Seth poem that appears as an epigraph in this book An Equal Music
Perhaps this could have stayed unstated.
Had our words turned to other things
In the grey park, the rain abated,
Life would have quickened other strings.
I list your gifts in this creation:
Pen, paper, ink and inspiration,
Peace to the heart with touch or word,
Ease to the soul with note and chord.
How did that walk, those winter hours,
Occasion this? No lightning came;
Nor did I sense, when touched by flame,
Our story lit with borrowed powers –
Rather, by what our spirits burned,
Embered in words, to us returned
