ON READING Y B YEATS AND A CONFESSION

"For bringing in Vintage feat,
At just the time I needed it,
I know nothing if the question is mine
About Etiquette and all and Vintage wine,
But drink Vintage I love to do,
And just like the King
I enjoy The Vintage too.."

I, being an avid reader, often wandered in the world of books - the best dope for the introvert, quiet boy to hide into, to avoid the real world, to spend more time in the realm of dreams, & self-constructed fantasy world.

From a very early age I made a stupid set of "readers' rules", for myself, perhaps to increase my devotion, surrendering to the 'feet' to The World of Letters, and pray that more and more books, let not books fly away from my world ; (now I know that it was 'bribery' that I had sinned by.)

But I learnt the ceremonial acts watching my mother, as she would try to create an air of sacrosanct auspice, surrendering herself to the feet of her deity (or whatever represented the divine core that she payed allegiance to). (now I know that she had sinned of bribery too)

Coming back to the subject of this discussion, I would make my "rules of reading" quite strict to which i've been faithful all along.

One section of the queer legislation demanded if I'm reading a good book, I should be a faithful reader, and not get distracted - My juvenile idea of respect for books.

The first time I read the lines - I confess that I broke that "rule of faith" and that my eager perusal had a selfish motive. With every tingle of satiety that words provided, I thought of these eyes, and myself, sneaking out to remember my daughter, and not the gratification in a world where gentle words make rainbow colours and brittle notes of melody.

But the second perusal (which, I suspect, might be hosting Greed demanding Need-- maybe I wanted to commit the same sin again, escaping to hope for a reverie which shall be graced by my princess).
But this time Yeats had me on the mat.

Now that is what you call Sweet Surrender.

ABOUT HEARTBREAKS

Dear Reader,
A break up
Is painful, needless, cruel. 
Modern technology makes sure 
We see every little detail, 
Of the aftermath, 
In cold words on a monitor. 

Dear Reader,
A secret break up, 
Is almost unbearable. 
Sarcastic digs made on Facebook, 
That only you'll understand, 
Because all you ever were Was a lie. 

Dear Reader,
A break up, 
With messages long since forgotten. 
It's not an inbox anymore, 
it's a thread of 'I love you baby', 'I miss you baby', 
'You are everything to me', 
Slowly turning into a kiss-less need to know messages. 
'I'll be home at 6', 'chicken for dinner'. 

Dear Reader,
A break up, 
That only valued close friends know about. 
But don't have the guts to admit to them, 
That they were right. 
That it didn't last, 
That it didn't work. 

And me and my bloody ideals. 
Nobody can make anybody 100% happy, 
But a commitment is a commitment, 
And I will work on it. 
And I won't give up on it, 
And I'll never walk away from something that makes me safe. 

Dear Reader,
A break up, 
Because of humanoid problems. 
Stupid Internet has ruined it all for me. 
Nude pictures, soppy emails. 
I'd rather be ignorant and happy, 
Than going through a break up.

Dear Reader, 
Don't break hearts. 
Don't.
Just don't do it.

[this is, on request, for a 22 year old man and a 20 year old lady (a couple which reads my blog). One of them sent me an email, wee bit unexpectedly as they usually send me a considerable chunk of my daily/weekly quota of brickbats. I hope this smells like a complimentary bouquet for the two, and maybe for their generation. I used to be twenty too. And twenty two ; but that is prehistory]

IT'S APRIL TONIGHT

Poetry is the core of arts
It’s not strange! 
Not knowing that poetry is core of all arts,
It’s not strange as well! 
The many who don’t know that poetry is core of all arts,
It’s not a strange at all! 

Lack of poetry, art is a form of imitation,
Lack of poetry, power is a presumptuous mediocrity,
Lack of poetry, fortune is a wealthy poverty,
Lack of poetry, love is a superficial organ,

[... And somebody said, "Although the poets usually make foes against vulgarity, a city makes the poets wandering on the streets should utterly lack of the manner and style. A society brings the resentment to the poets, it should fully lack of Consciousness..."]

Well well well....

Solitude is the major topic in life. Solitude is poetry.

The extreme of love - solitude,
The extreme of wealth - solitude, 
The extreme of power – solitude,
The extreme of art - solitude,
The extreme of climax - solitude,
The extreme of world - solitude,
The extreme of planets - solitude,

Those who have never explored loneliness,
Can they write down the weight of poetry?

... I can only smile... With a tear drop in my eye (well it really doesn't matter doc, does it?) 

As Cliff Richard sang to a five year old boy one Sunday afternoon,
"Many a tear has to fall,
But it is All....
In the game." 

It was a Murphy transistor. 
The doc remembers still...