On an Idyllic Sunday Afternoon

Propped against the wall I sit

With thoughts that keep fluttering

Momentarily now, looking at the grey clouds

Fluttering in a jiffy to yesterday

of the bright blue sky (yes, GNR)

And then in a trance thinking of tomorrow

How fickle life is; and how strong the character.

Days of the yore that come

With the swat of the PT teacher's whistle string

Turning red the back of our thighs

To the English prose classes; about Kipling and spice

Friends and the tease

Days when we dreamed

of going to college or making it big

College days and ones spent

wooing and occasionally, oh ever so, being

The idealism and fire, the want to be the best

And yet, not miss a moment of fun

Slumbering away those hot summer afternoons

In the library stacks; and being woken up by the Librarian

And aspiring, each day to be healthy, wealthy and gay (sic!)

Toiling the midnight oil

Trying to make our dreams come true

Working each day as if it would never end

And making the most in what Rand

would agree be productive achievement

Never failing sight of the vision

Growing by the day, adding dimensions to life

Getting caught in an abyss becoming

Another Brick In the Wall (the video)

But that's where God comes in and gives me a kick

Says, son, you aren't fit to be mashed to sausage.

So go on, dream, smile, work and enjoy.

But remember, don't let those dreams become your master.

That's when I remember that the constants through our lives remain

Our dreams and our guides.

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Thoughts go out to my parents, teachers, gurus, well-wishers, elders, friends, authors, books, poets on this auspicious day of Guru Poornima. Thank you for all the light you shed on my path.

Realisation

Just realised that the last four blog entries are all verses or literature received from others.

Am I the romantic-coming-out-of-the-closet? Gosh!! Worse still, a plagiarising-romantic-coming-out-of-the-closet!!

Nah, but there's so much to read out there, so much to digest, so much to do. A quiet week in a Buddhist monaestry reading would be the best anti-dote.

But then the thought of the woods being lovely, dark and deep and miles to go before I sleep, a legacy to leave before I retire and pounds to lose before I holiday, all bring me back to reality!!

Go work, Makhija!!

O Me, O Life?

O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring;
Of the endless trains of the faithless--of cities fill'd with the foolish;
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light--of the objects mean--of the struggle ever renew'd;
Of the poor results of all--of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;
Of the empty and useless years of the rest--with the rest me intertwined;
The question, O me! so sad, recurring--What good amid these, O me, O life?

Answer.

That you are here--that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.

-Walt Whitman

----
How pessimistic it sounds right in the beginning. And then till one gets to the answer and suddenly the thought changes.

So the verse and so life. It keeps getting tough, weary, frustrating and what not. But persistence and self-belief are the keys.