Made me blissfully, thoughtfully, sad.
I thought once again that,
seeing how loss-ful life is,
Art will take care of you better.
And so, some souls rarely tread.
Better to keep it tight,
tight in the world, light in your head,
Rear secrets instead.
Resolved once more to stick to The Rules.
I pray and train, do not bend:
Only think of things,
But do not send.
D.A. (Feb 14, '04)
Sweet Oval '76, (last week of our telly),
One Whispering Death, another Windies victory.
We were glued and I thought, 'To be just that!
White strip, black skin, maroon caps...'
Back then I thought that all it took
was cricket and books,
and cricketing books.
Around Ten or so, one more I did ask,
'Lord, please send me one of those slim silver flasks,'
From the westerns, you see, then noir a little older,
Dicks in fedoras and dames with cigarette holders.
Forties takes, neo-fakes, I didn't care,
so long as there was doom and hats and smoke in her hair.
One day, on my way,
from a gloom, around noon,
appeared a Wise Man.
I asked, 'Please Sir, what does this make me?'
'Hush, child, perhaps too soon...
But I'd have to say,
if odds to lay,
A fetishist, most likely. '
| Return |