The one beauty of writing is rather than painting a full picture with words and telling a tale it lets the Reader imagine. There is always room to add and subtract for now the reins of interpretation is no longer remain in the hands of the author.
With each new reader it becomes more than a beautiful just a combination of words or just another story the author intends to tell but with each reader it takes a different form, it tells a new story; story said not just by the words but by the emotion of the unwritten words which just suggests their presence.
Maybe that’s why written words never grow’s old; it only begins to tell a new story.
It was in class 10 I read a poem by Jhon Milton it was in our syllabus for the exams so what option had I but to study it as the teacher instructed. Years have passed since then I have read the poem hundreds of times. Today I see it as my own story parts of me, my despair, my tears have just crept into it and answered my every question making it mine;
When I consider how my light is spent,
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one Talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my Soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide;
“Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?”
I fondly ask. But patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need
Either man’s work or his own gifts; who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed
And post o’er Land and Ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait.”
On His Blindness is one of the best-known sonnets of John Milton. It may have been written as early as 1652, although most scholars believe it was composed sometime between June and October 1655.
Here’s “my” rough summary:
“When I think of how I have lost my vision even before middle age, and how I am unable to use my best talent to serve God the gift that God gave me, I ask if God requires his servants to fully use the gift he gave them and how can his servant be the best he can be now that he no longer has vision.
(However before he could speak up again, he hears a murmur maybe it is his soul who answers’ the answer he knows). In the poem, before he can speak up again, a figure called Patience answers his question Patience is like, “You think God needs your work? No, man. His best servants are the ones who bear life’s burden the best. He already has thousands of people running around across land and sea to serve him. You can just stand right there, wait; do the best you can do and that will always be enough.”
There are many Poems and stories that have told me my story, different ones countless times.
Which Poem/story tells yours?