poem

I came across a poem by one Mr. Edward Robins Richardson as quoted in my latest favourite book in the world: Me Cheeta, An Autobiography (written by one Mr. James Lever, what a guy). What a book and what a poem. I wish I'd written them both... or at least one... or at least something that compares... Eh... Bleh...

So here goes -

Let us with zest drink deep the draught

Of life, and care not if the wine

Is neither nectar nor divine

Elixir, for we have loved and laughed

Amid our tears. If we should fall

In reaching for the big brass ring,

Or if, like Ic'rus, we take wing

Too near the sun... well, then we fall.

At least we flew! At least we chose

To burn! And when our heydey cools

And we're near dust, if we were fools

To hell with it. To hell with those

Who feared to rush dream-drunk, headlong

Into th'dance! Say this, when we set

Out for the realm unconuer'd yet:

Say, They Lived. Judge us right or wrong

We drained our cups.

*

Its the most wonderful time of the year. Just the right amount of cold. I'm working from home... from our balcony to be more precise. In a t-shirt, my arms finally get to see the light of day. To breathe. Its been far too long.

And suddenly I don't hate Delhi as much as I did not so long ago. And Delhi seems to have accepted me too. Like former lovers who reunite and grudgingly admit how incomplete they were without each other. That home was closer than they could have ever imagined.

*

We drained our cups... and made our peace.