Day to day [rubai]
From moment to moment and day to day my mood keeps changing
whatever it is that comprises me keeps rearranging
at times the sense of love prevails at times it dwindles
are we designed for ardency? or built for estranging?
whatever I'd hoped to learn I have not yet discovered
whatever I'd feared would burn I have not yet recovered
the simplest fact of being alive has fiction bested
except perhaps when we discern how truth is covered
we initially felt an ambition for film
but somehow it faltered
we originally sought for to sail the brine whelm
but somehow it altered
we primoridally dreamed how we'd live in a palace
and drink cherry tea
we once were disposed to explore the wide road
we somehow got sheltered
(Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, in her essay "'Breast-giver': for author, reader, teacher, subaltern, historian," in Mahasweta Devi, Breast Stories (1997))
That history deals with real events and literature with imagined ones may now be seen as a difference in degree rather than in kind.
The interest of this fine formulation transcends, for me, the particular context of its original presentation. It seems to have diverse, ubiquitous, and perhaps one may say endless applications.