The night is black and the forest has no end;
a million people thread it in a million ways.
We have trysts to keep in the darkness, but where
or with whom - of that we are unaware.
But we have this faith - that a lifetime's bliss
will appear any minute, with a smile upon its lips.
Scents, touches, sounds, snatches of songs
brush us, pass us, give us delightful shocks.
Then peradventure there's a flash of lightning:
whomever I see that instant I fall in love with.
I call that person and cry: `This life is blest!
for your sake such miles have I traversed!'
All those others who came close and moved off
in the darkness - I don't know if they exist or not.
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I see this poem as a description of the way we live our lives without knowing why we are here. Perhaps that is cynical. I don't mean to be cynical, though. It is simply like so many others have described it: we see only half-truths, reflections, illusions. We see only part of what is real. In reality, we don't know what will happen to us when we die. We can only believe in whichever path we choose.
We are wandering through a forest, searching for illumination, searching for a bit of light, a person who understands us and, seeing us for who we truly are, accepts us without questioning or searching for more. It is enough to be accepted. One does not always need understanding. Sometimes, there is no understanding to be had.
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GOOD 1-----------------FROM CLAIRE IT WAS VERY GOOD-------------MARGARET
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'We have trysts to keep in the darkness, but where'
'tryst' I actually learned that word from the movie A Knight's Tale. See, movies educate.
The last line seems to me to be an addage of thought, solely on his part. The rest I feel is personal in the viewing of time. The first line signifies that to me: 'The night is black and the forest has no end;' -- 'the forest has no end;'
Enchanting I feel. A good piece by Rabindranath Tagore.
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