Mahfil. vol. 1, no. 1 4 In other words, the poe^s work is not only perception and observation, but also struggle and effort, A full comprehension of this ocean of Life through the live and active "drops" of his environment depends upon the poe^s depth of perception^ To be able to show this ocean to others depends upon his control over his art 5 and his ability to set in motion some new currents in the ocean depends upon the fire in his blood and the zeal of his passions. Success in all three tasks demands continuous toil and struggle• Life is not like the stagnant, moss-covered surface of some pool which can be observed by a merely casual glance of an observer, In distant, mist-shrouded mountains, snow melts 5 brooks flow; rivers and streams pierce through the heart of the mountains, crash through the rocks 9 and embrace each other^ This water continues to rise until it flows out over hills and valleys, over forests and plains, A person who is not conscious of these aspects of human history cannot claim to have perceived the ocean» But even if the poet does attain success in fathoming these hidden secrets of time Past and Present and still fails to do justice to expressing these secrets through his art, if he is hesitant to share body and' soul in the struggle towards the next stage of human history^ indeed, he has failed to fulfill the demands of his art, It might be useless to explain this lengthy metaphor in simpler language, What I want to say is that a full comprehension of the collective struggle of human life and a conscious effort to share in that struggle is not only the demand of Life, but also a demand of Art» Art is a part of this Life, and an artistic effort is just one aspect of this struggle^ This demand upon the artist remains eternally 5 therefore, his struggle has no end, His art lies in endless effort and 'in eternal struggle, Success or failure in this struggle depends upon the relative prowess of the artist; but most important for him is that he remain toiling in this struggle, untired, undefeated, endlessly, eternally, Poems from naqs-i faryadi SOLITUDE (tanhai) Is someone there, sad hearty»no, No one, A traveller perhaps, and soon gone, Night dwindles^ stars1 dusty lights scatter; In each room, drowsy lamps stagger? Each path, keeping watjoh, now sleeps 5 New sand blots old tracks, Put out the candles. Hide the wine, the jug and bowl, Lock the sleepless doors, No one,,, no one now will come,