Sunday, 21 February 2010

Remember You, Like a Child, Girl.

There are two stairways that lead down to the Regent Park station - each, exits on either way of the same road. Two, and I always take one. Just one. And it never matters to me from which direction I am coming from nor which I am going to - I always take the one facing towards the East of Marylebone Road. Towards a particular accommodation. Perhaps because I like it that way, perhaps, because I kissed someone incessantly by that stairway.

But I am a creature of habit, and a silly one at that - so when I took it this time, I took my same old walk across the road, pausing for a moment at the crossing; with my customary glance at a particular window behind me - even though none I know now live there anymore.  And then, it is Park Square East, and into Regent Park. I've come to realise, I've visited this place ofterner than I have my most beloved park: St. James'. Perhaps because I like it this way, perhaps because that first night, we star-gazed by that  byway.

It was sunny today and I was never the one for sunny weather - but it rained a little, and London is never London without its rain anyway. I was visiting my cemetery -  the Rose Garden. There, the rose bushes  all stood cut down, so that they'd grow up again. But it looked like a dead place now. And in the ringed pathway that encircled them, there were signposts that read:

'Keep Smiling' - 'Lovely Lady' - 'Remember Me' ...

I took my customary seat and left a letter I wrote for her by the bench - like mourner's rose on the grave. She'll never see it, it'll die in the London rain - but I did it nonetheless. Perhaps because I am silly this way, perhaps because, here, I left her that day.

Wednesday, 17 February 2010

Poetry 13/02/2010

I'm doomed to love those who do not love me,
And love not, those who do,
Like the blossom that loved naught but the sun,
When in equal measure, his fellow flower -
Does - in waiting - shine and not run.


Wednesday, 10 February 2010

Radha is Gokul

My office lies in Mathura - my heart's at Gokul. If I were the Lord, I'd leave my Mathura and go to Gokul. I'd leave my Mathura, and see my Radha - by the river Jamuna, where perhaps, she's bathing. And her hand, at her unawares, for a kiss I'd seize - like of old I tended to - so that she may plead of me, as of old, not to. Then like a meek girl, run away.

Radha is, Gokul is, and Radha's Gokul. So I'd see in Gokul her great flashing eyes - that does both illuminate and strike. Then fancy, perhaps, that her fire's still burning - that she's still waiting. Fancy...perhaps.

But she's no Radha, and she's not waiting. And I'm no Krishna, so there's no going.

Sunday, 7 February 2010

Two Weeks

It's been two weeks since I've spoken to you, and I know it'll be four soon. And four weeks will be eight, and eight will be four months. And then, from four to eight, and before I realise it, years have passed. Years.

And sometimes, but only for those fortunate few, years are but moments.