Ghalib writes of rain and weather as metaphors for experiencing and accepting life fully; for the pain that often must be endured to do so. I wrote my most recent post about changing weather worsening chronic illness/pain; finding this poem today feels like a gift in timing.
Ghalib’s rain drop experiences unbearable pain in order to become the river. As drops of rain fall on the fire-red Japanese maple leaves outside our living room window, I can’t help but smile and see them (and my own weather- flared physical pain) through Ghalib’s wise poetic eyes.
For the Raindrop
by, Ghalib
For the raindrop-joy is in entering the river—
Unbearable pain becomes it’s own cure.
Travel far enough into sorrow, tears turn to sighing;
In this way we learn how water can die into air.
When, after heavy rain, the stormclouds disperse,
Is it not that they’ve wept themselves clear to the end?
If you want to know a miracle, how wind can polish a mirror,
Look: the shiney glass grows green in spring.
It’s the roses unfolding, Ghalib, that creates the desire to see—
In every color and circumstance, may the eyes be open for what comes.
*Ghalib was a 19th century Persian poet.
