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Archive for July 3, 2012


A New Way To Eat Avocados!.

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Vultures

In the greyness
and drizzle of one despondent
dawn unstirred by harbingers
of sunbreak a vulture
perching high on broken
bones of a dead tree
nestled close to his
mate his smooth
bashed-in head, a pebble
on a stem rooted in
a dump of gross
feathers, inclined affectionately
to hers. Yesterday they picked
the eyes of a swollen
corpse in a water-logged
trench and ate the
things in its bowel. Full
gorged they chose their roost
keeping the hollowed remnant
in easy range of cold
telescopic eyes…

Strange
indeed how love in other
ways so particular
will pick a corner
in that charnel-house
tidy it and coil up there, perhaps
even fall asleep – her face
turned to the wall!

…Thus the Commandant at Belsen
Camp going home for
the day with fumes of
human roast clinging
rebelliously to his hairy
nostrils will stop
at the wayside sweet-shop
and pick up a chocolate
for his tender offspring
waiting at home for Daddy’s
return…

Praise bounteous
providence if you will
that grants even an ogre
a tiny glow-worm
tenderness encapsulated
in icy caverns of a cruel
heart or else despair
for in the very germ
of that kindred love is
lodged the perpetuity
of evil.

I have always liked poetry ever since the first day I could understand how to read. Am I a romanticist or just a dreamer? I can not stop reciting in my head Wordsworth ‘s To a Butterfly and My Heart Leaps up’. I also particularly love the verse

The Child is father of the Man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.

I remember the first days I read that poem, I could not make heads or tails of what the great poet was saying. However, it soon gradually became like a part of me as I could never put the book down.

Sometimes, I often find myself, when in an utter state of solitude dreaming of those long gone days when I was a little boy playing in the forest.I often go wondering back to days of my youth. Chasing birds, (the flying type), butterflies, grasshoppers. And just being a little impish runt. Those days when at the break of dawn you would hear the birds chirping, the Sun trying to sneak through the curtains. Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days. Oh those tranquil morns – then suddenly you get roused from that reverie by the sound of mom screaming you better get up and get ready for school.

I remember watching birds flying back at sunset. The sun reluctantly disappearing to its own bed. Grumblingly sometimes, as it tried to hang on, those long summer days. The sight of the rainbow following a brief spurt of rain, was oh so glorious. The sight of the rainbow, even to this day brings so much joy, hope and expectation. I do not know why and I am sure may never know why. Maybe that’s the child in me. Those sweet childish days live long in us.

Gone are those days when little boys and girls could run amok all day without any fear of some ‘naughty man’ taking them away. Come and go we did, fear no wrong. Playful little things we were.

In school we played. Had fun too. unbounded joy from learning how to read making new friends. And the breaks-oh! more time to play. The only fear then was the grunts of disapproval from that teacher with the big goggles, waving his finger at you. Apoplectic, frothing at the mouth because pupil could not give an answer for some math question. Or whatever?  ‘Those days when life was plain-sailing. When all you worried about was not when you will have something to eat, but being called back home to eat, interrupting your playtime. Those days that formed me..We were loved. We loved our big people. We loved the animals around us. The flowers, the days we used to break into song. What joy when we used to go to the fair!Mess about, eating candy floss and chocolate-coated apples!

We were in a West End musical with our big people watching us. Encouraging us to grow and flourish. Always standing up in applause. We were loved. We were watched. And be rewarded. No complications, life was so simple.

When we were young, all we needed was knowing we have a home to go back to. Loving parents and loads of toffees.

My heart leaps up when I recall those days of my childhood. So does it now that I am a man and see the little children I hope one day will be model citizens. Children should be nurtured and be allowed to flourish. Like a butterfly, they should bright, happy and be safe. And be allowed to float. Explore. Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days.

Looking back, as I reminisce I wonder whether I am looking at the past through a kaleidoscope. Everything was not rosy. Those were the best days of my life. Reminiscing has just made me remember too, days when we used to listen to country music. Dolly Parton’s My coat of many colours comes to mind! It tells a beautiful story.

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