The nip in the air
The fresh smell of winter
The distant grandeur of the mountains
The condensation of my breath
The stillness of time
And the lump in my throat
Being pulled back in time
Fragrant innocence of youth
Desire to achieve
Will to perform
Strength to move the mountains
And the zeal to sustain
Have been left behind
Time is eternity
It doesn’t come or go
Time is where it was
We move on
If only I could
I certainly would
Go back in time
To relive those moments
Of glory and joy
Of friendship and mischief
Those carefree days
Of sunshine holidays
Those starry nights
And nippy fights
The seven mile run
The shortcuts to fun
The stories of mystery
Ghosts with history
The chapel bells
The red stones besides the grave
The poetry and drama
On stage and off stage
That mountain air
Is no longer there!
The hustle and bustle
The speed, the need
The hazy mornings
With smoke filled evenings
Expectations reversed
Goals achieved
Distances traversed
Innocence replaced
By virtue and maturity
Vanity and sanity
Tired sinews, diminishing strength
Rested but tense
Pressed for care
No will to proceed
Ensconced in my zone
Enlivened as comfort
Having achieved
I have arrived
Or so it seems
Is there a time machine
To take me back
To those days
Of sheer innocence and
Abundant confidence
Carefree existence
Living of life
Each day on its merit
Or am I destined
To live in the past
And worry about the future
Ignoring the present?
The fresh smell of winter
The distant grandeur of the mountains
The condensation of my breath
The stillness of time
And the lump in my throat
Being pulled back in time
Fragrant innocence of youth
Desire to achieve
Will to perform
Strength to move the mountains
And the zeal to sustain
Have been left behind
Time is eternity
It doesn’t come or go
Time is where it was
We move on
If only I could
I certainly would
Go back in time
To relive those moments
Of glory and joy
Of friendship and mischief
Those carefree days
Of sunshine holidays
Those starry nights
And nippy fights
The seven mile run
The shortcuts to fun
The stories of mystery
Ghosts with history
The chapel bells
The red stones besides the grave
The poetry and drama
On stage and off stage
That mountain air
Is no longer there!
The hustle and bustle
The speed, the need
The hazy mornings
With smoke filled evenings
Expectations reversed
Goals achieved
Distances traversed
Innocence replaced
By virtue and maturity
Vanity and sanity
Tired sinews, diminishing strength
Rested but tense
Pressed for care
No will to proceed
Ensconced in my zone
Enlivened as comfort
Having achieved
I have arrived
Or so it seems
Is there a time machine
To take me back
To those days
Of sheer innocence and
Abundant confidence
Carefree existence
Living of life
Each day on its merit
Or am I destined
To live in the past
And worry about the future
Ignoring the present?
3 comments:
SERMONS OF THE COPY RIDER
(1)
He wrote moving obituaries
To make ends meet,
And rode the coffee machines
The way you and I tweet…
He rode to offices
To make the last rides clean,
And purely by rote wrote
The last rites serene…
Eroding the Mountains,
Glaciers and pithy domains,
Promoting the meek n mild,
Crushing the sovereign…
He wrote for many agencies,
Clients and retired bores,
And he rode the frisky mares
Writing to inspire snores…
And he rode the dusty ride
In the silence of the pride,
Ensconced in the camaraderie
With which the blessed ride…
(2)
He wrote their long lists of
Myopic greed-based needs,
And rode the urban roads
In search of peace loving breeds…
He rode through the day
And parts of the night,
Strengthening the meek
With the Creator’s light…
He wrote advertisements
That most would call shit,
And he rode his pen on paper
Doing his two paise bit…
He rode on the crest of failure,
Underwriting with aplomb,
Come wind, come weather,
Deflowering the precocious bomb…
And he rode the full distance
Writing in the light of his might,
Shielded in the arms of Him
Who blesses every ride…
Close-to-death Skirmishes, Shattering windows,
Trembling kids of just made widows.
Rattling guns and Molotov cocktails,
Heavenly bodies with fiery tails…
Rabid terror, moronic ‘revolution-err-ies,’
Media bytes and conspiracy theories.
Shattered souls and ravaged cherries,
Brain-washed sans childhood memories…
Who else could reciprocate like Sudeb?
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