It was thought that the gods blew on creative people, who would then inhale the god's breath and have an idea. This is the premise of "inspiration": inhaling divine breath and ideas.

Saturday, June 7, 2008

The Wicked post man by Rabindrananth Tagore

Why do you sit there on the floor so quiet and silent, tell me,
mother dear?

The rain is coming in through the open window, making you all
wet, and you don't mind it.

Do you hear the gong striking four? It is time for my brother
to come home from school.

What has happened to you that you look so strange?

Haven't you got a letter from father today?

I saw the postman bringing letters in his bag for almost
everybody in the town.

Only father's letters he keeps to read himself. I am sure the
postman is a wicked man.

But don't be unhappy about that, mother dear.

Tomorrow is market day in the next village. You ask your maid
to buy some pens and papers.

I myself will write all father's letters; you will not find
a single mistake.

I shall write from A right up to K.

But, mother, why do you smile?

You don't believe that I can write as nicely as father does!

But I shall rule my paper carefully, and write all the letters
beautifully big.

When I finish my writing do you think I shall be so foolish
as father and drop it into the horrid postman's bag?

I shall bring it to you myself without waiting, and letter by
letter help you to read my writing.

I know the postman does not like to give you the really nice

Rabindranath Tagore

This poem is a collection from a book named 'The crescent moon' by Sir Rabindranath Tagore. I remember reading in my English classes. A beautiful poem . I loved reading it again after a long time.

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