Sunday, July 26, 2009

Shadebagan Lane.

I do not wish to be condescending. I do not even wish to be filmy. I just wish to say that the last few days have been unusual. Each day has brought with it incredible stories of personal courage and personal squalor. And as I have come back to my clean home, with an AC and a tiled bathroom; a colour TV and concerned parents, I have realized, perhaps more than ever, how utterly stupid my fights about curfew hours and clean rooms really are. And how incredibly, incredibly lucky I have been in some ways.

I only wish my companion would not reserve all her emotions for 2 litre bottles of Pepsi.

Thursday, July 16, 2009


I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.....


- Pablo Neruda