Solitude or not
My dear Sophie,
The western poet is a devotee. He writes his prayers. I heard them today. He talks of one solitude, one solitude that is the key to an artist’s salvation.
Did you and me miss it? Not because we wanted to. But because we have been pulled into this whirlpool. They cage our roses and then expect us to stay in our respective quiet corners not looking up at the skies and not destroying our gray rains. No that cannot be Sophie.
It cannot be, because one woman alone stood in front of a scared crowd of 50000 men oppressed by a dictator, and she took it to the stage alone, she wore a black sari, and she sang the poem against oppression, of the poet caged by the tyrants.
So it cannot be.
May be our solitude needs to wait. And may be our art will never be enlightened. But I suppose that is ok. Because we will be the two poetesses destroying that gray rain, wearing our black saris, and telling them that roses cannot be caged.
Stay safe Sophie and always tell me how women like us, in solitude or not, make our art, by ripping apart the Mahisasuras.
Votre ami dévoué
Z.
