Please refer to my post @ https://ifeelshadows.wordpress.com/2012/07/16/my-idyllic-village-experience/ for a background to the story.
Original(O): It is a good time to play,
Before the night goes astray,
Explained(E): Like I have said earlier on, I am a nocturnal creature and more active at night. After my daily medical work, eating and working out; and I wake up into the totally fair evening weather and take my bath, I am ready to start the day. This implies that the nights are my last treasured moments for the day. I eat supper on the stroke of midnight, watch movies, do some writing and pass out past midnight on the wings of music for the spirit.
O: And the dawn brings the clouds
Who love knocking on my window;
E: I have once described the morning weather as “as fair as it can be” (or in words like that!) The sun is in a hurry to wake up, and the mornings are bright and wonderful. You feel like you woke up in the clouds.
O: Then I wake up on my knees,
Paying homage to the Supreme
Who stands as the Gate-Keeper
To the world of the Supreme Unseen.
E: You pass out at the brink of ecstasy. What better way to wake up than into heaven’s arms. It’s all about Him here. He freely and lovingly throws the gate into His(Christ’s) Kingdom open for any “Tom, Dick and Harry” to hop inside. Bless the days I refuse the all-too-easy offer. Blame it on my self-destruct mechanism and the nothing-good-comes-easy mindset..
O: One day the pregnant virgin will lay her egg;
And when they hatch, an adult emerges.
He will then stroll up to the stage,
After years of stepping up to the plate,
E: With reference to the prequel to this (rant no. 7), I(the mad village poet) would be the virgin. And after seasons of learning and growth, a better writer hopefully emerges.
In another sense, the mad village poet will soon give birth to it’s creation -The Mad City Poet.
O: To pick up the prize.
The penultimate proof of maturity.
The reward for seasons of wandering the white land.
E: Whatever good or bonus comes to one as a writer is not the end of the story.
The ultimate proof is the impact to the world done. And I do not mean writings that must move crowds or nations. I mean writings that will make some meaning to any one person or crowd. That is the ultimate reward.
(Though the prize the mad village poet’s creation picks up refers to the bonuses and accolades!)
At least, all your years or seasons of writing will pay off.
The “white land” refers to my white sheets I made my notes on.