Juan Ramon Jimenez once said of his work:
“Inner poetry eludes words. When one wishes to express something profound, one does not express it in jingles. In my first period I used adjectives, later the adjectives became substantives. Literary artistry is constant suffering for the poet; one doubts the exactness of words, their ability to express what we feel within us. We strive to find that spirited asset, the inner essence.”

Yes, the missing link, the age old Wittgensteinian problem in our day-to-day life, when we try to search for an idea, even an obscure ounce of it if maneuvered (un)consciously makes oneself so gleefully over joyous, the aftermath comes during the futile attempt of representing the original idea that it becomes so bleak by the broad daylight, it wanders and toddles even amongst the wildest of clapping. This overwhelming self-deprecation seems to occur because of a selfish attempt to huge amount of unattended work that was needed to flourish an alchemical idea which was unforeseen by the author due to its immediate materialistic potpourri.


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