Solitary "RIPPER"

William Wordsworth was one of the most prolific Romantic Poet, who gave all his creativity for the matertials in and around the natural ambience. His poem The Solitary Reaper remains a special poem that I have ever read. But what is the intention to speak about this or like this? I have heard no maiden sing, nor in the plains, nor moving up the hill...! Then? Why in my 200th post, of all the happenings or no happenings of my life, did I choose the poet and his creation. May be the poem's matter dont have that practical implication with my article, or if some one can, well is free to find one. Infact, I will explain one...

Solitary means, to be all alone in a particular co-ordinate in the spatial location. (doesnt suit the natural beauty!!!???) There's a beautiful music when being alone. A music heard to oneself, keeping others gazing with wonder as to what You believe and what you do:

Will no one tell me what she sings?

- Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow

For old, unhappy, far-off things,

And battles long ago;

Or is it some more humble lay,

Familiar matter of to-day?

Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,

That has been, and may be again?

You remain unclear to many, and more so less vulnerable. To be alone has its pain, the sweet pain of "being alone", by itself is more than bearable, but as my heart (Hiiya) utters, atleast you dont infuse your sorrow in others, beloved one... thats great, or is it? Questions just flock in the bemused mind, a mind where the quetion of being like this always eats away the mental peace, and induces the same in other closed one. To this idea, the song: में ऐसा क्यूँ हूँ? Picturized on Hritik Roshan in Laksh comes to the mind.

Is Mr. Bean's up close and over simplified style is worth a deal with Life? Or is it too simple to get an inkling of the turmoil that it gets through sleeping alone in the bed (however cozy it might be) worthy of a deal? I dont think so, atleast I dont feel like. I have gone through those in the past, but now, its a different story, still at hand, and should be changed with a moderated and different view. Those old looking glasses need a replacement soon...or else the Train shall leave the platform while I keep try to figure out the station I want to go from the fare chart... I can't leave the train, where I am most comfortable in this whole wide world... I can't. Can Wordsworth figure out the lines through which I am passing through? May be.... May be... I will ask him when I reach the station of eternity boarding the train... For without the coach, its too cold outside.... RIPPING COLD!!!