Pretty poetry for the day.

TO A POET A THOUSAND YEARS HENCE

by: James Elroy Flecker

I who am dead a thousand years,
And wrote this sweet archaic song,
Send you my words for messengers
The way I shall not pass along.

I care not if you bridge the seas,
Or ride secure the cruel sky,
Or build consummate palaces
Of metal or of masonry.

But have you wine and music still,
And statues and a bright-eyed love,
And foolish thoughts of good and ill,
And prayers to them who sit above?

How shall we conquer? Like a wind
That falls at eve our fancies blow,
And old Mæonides the blind
Said it three thousand years ago.

O friend unseen, unborn, unknown,
Student of our sweet English tongue,
Read out my words at night, alone:
I was a poet, I was young.

Since I can never see your face,
And never shake you by the hand,
I send my soul through time and space
To greet you. You will understand.

Haiku mode

Mango Fruit flies
Flit over my head
Warm May morning

No 5- 7- 5 syllable structure.. Pretty much freestyle..Experimenting..

The many worlds

The other day, I read a rather innocuous article in the Hindu about a mother’s relief over the verdict passed against her son’s killer. 12 years ago, her son had died of bullets wounds when the Mumbai Police, allegedly resorted to indiscriminate firing to control a mob agitating against the desecration of Dr. Ambedkar’s statue. The courts had found the Police commissioner in charge at that time guilty.

I say innocuous, in that firstly , it had appeared in the bottom left corner of the last page of the paper. Secondly, in this great country of a billion plus, murders, injustice, agitations, scapegoats, indiscriminate firing, delayed justice are de rigeur, atleast to me. Even as I say this I feel no remorse, no shame, to admit that such incidents don’t move me as much as they did once( or so, I’d like to believe) upon a long long time ago.
But what did strangely register in my mind was the old lady’s plight. For her, the question that still lurked was “who had hung the garland of chappals on the statue?”
I do not know if the issue was politicized. I’m inclined to believe it was, as the incident occurred close to the elections. However, what Dr. Ambedkar symbolized to the many who had been discriminated against is something I cannot even begin to fathom. For that matter, I cannot comprehend what it means to be discriminated against, to live life in subjugation, a second citizen in a world you create..

The many worlds around me, that I so naively believe thread into mine in some way. ..

Falling in love with critical theory..

Representation of the world, like the world itself, is the work of men; they describe it from their own point of view, which they confuse with the absolute truth

—Simone de Beauvoir; quoted by Smircich, 1985

I have never considered myself a feminist till I read the quote above. It evoked such deep empathy and comprehension within – I’m surprised! And for the record, the ideology here is sympathetic to all dominated groups, not restricted to women.

Pointless…

Sometimes all you can do is believe..

Logos, Thymos, Eros…

… Take me to any road in Bangalore, and I’ll know the the Chill ‘n’ ovens and the Ganesh Juice centers… ..I know the places that are open late and the ones that you can hit for an early morning filter coffee. .. I have my own jeweller, shoe shop, kulfi place.. I have memories tagged to tiny alleys.. The road behind Sacred Hearts’ Church, the cargo lane next to the airport, Airline’s hotel, Old Madras road and how it was many years ago at midnight, all the crosses of Indiranagar..

I’ve been here long enough to talk about the changes.. It’s the place where I came in as a 17 year old just out of school.. It’s also the place that today, 8 years later, I call home… It’s a place, Vatal Nagaraj and his cohorts apart, where you get taken in warmly, no matter who you are and where you’re from..

Yes, Bangalore is my spirit.. But, always, yes always, Delhi is my soul…

I can manage because….

Well how about that friend who called up with some really scandalous gossip? And you shared a great laugh ..

How about getting to know that someone whose blogs you read earnestly happens to like your writing too?

Then there’s Yoga.. The red carnations…(they have decided to stay a little longer) .. Some ‘comfort food’ ..

And yes! The Prof whom you absolutely adore calls you to co-ordinate a project for her.. Not to mention, the other Prof whom you highly respect offers to let you in on any one of the many projects he has in the pipeline..Delighted, indeed!

Then of course, the magician – who is always in style..He keeps up with his spells and can charm you off your feet – if only you believe!

Do I see a pattern? Not really … Which is what makes it wonderful! Happiness could come in from any corner..

It’s crazy ..But I think I can ..

You know how it can get so insane you don’t know how you can possibly go on?

….I used to think I could never blog, because- well, how can you possibly air what you think and feel to all those people out there .. I used to maintain a diary for about 10 years..So you can probably imagine how antithetical it is to me..

So the rooms are going to be painted, I need to vacate mine. I have 5 term papers to write and one journal article to tighten. Add to this, people who don’t take their work too seriously.. Which is fine by me as long as mine does not hinge upon it..Spice it up with the absence of the magician and dearest friends..Life could be a little trying.

I could deal with it by saying this is just a crazy phase. But the point is, I want to be saying “I’m having some fun!”..

Some days when that pitcher seems so nearly empty….

An excerpt from Walden

There are so many passages I love from Walden..This excerpt is for the Now.

“A written word is the choicest of relics. It is something at once more intimate with us and more universal than any other work of art. It is the work of art nearest to life itself.It may be translated into every human language, and not only be read but also breathed from all human lips;-not be represented on canvas or in marble only, but be carved out of the breath of life itself……….

…Books are the treasured wealth of the world and the fit inheritance of generations and nations. Books, the oldest and the best, stand naturally and rightfully on the shelves of every cottage. They have no cause of their own to plead, but while they enlighten and sustain the reader his common sense will not refuse them.” ……

- Henry David Thoreau (Pg.67)

Red carnations…

Red carnations, keep me company this evening..You and me at the window looking out at the Rain form rivulets in the stadium..

Keep me company through this night too, like you did the last one. Your red will break the monotony of black and white text.

Perhaps, if you will, the morning too..

These transactions will wither away in time… But your stunning bloom would have made some sweet moments of my life..

Perhaps, isn’t this what all associations are about?