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Sunday, April 22, 2012

Day 865

Finally the week ended...and so did the weekend. This week was very busy and for the first time in many weeks, i was at home on sunday doing nothing. I was so pooped out. Saturday was the monthly event day at office. This month's event was people coming dressed as famous Hindi Film characters. Some of them, specially my boss, did a great job. I was least interested though, so i just sat and did my own work and in between watched the event. And i was feeling too sick to go to office on a weekend, specially since most of my friends and acquaintances were having an off. And i was in a very low state of mind. But as usual, somehow i dragged my self. Knowing that if i skip work, there will be tons of work waiting for me on Monday. And since it was a saturday, I decided to eat out. A couple of office colleagues joint me for dinner at the local udipi where we had some great Punjabi food. I came home and after ages, watched some quality stuff on TV. First was the mother of all club football Matched - El Classico - Real Madrid Vs Barcelona. Which Real Madrid Convincingly won 2-1. And have virtually won the La Liga Championship unless there is a major upset. After that i watched Deep Purple at Montrux Jazz Festival on a music channel - iConcerts. And although all members of the band are probably in their 70s, they played some kick ass music. Yes, Ian Gillian Still wants to sing as if he is living in the 1970s and it feels he will get a heart attack anytime but hey, that is a rockstar life for you. I finally managed to get sleep by 4 AM.
I woke up at noon on Sunday morning. I again, had a premonition. I felt that somehow someone's going to die and i am going to hear about it through someone. And it happened. The Fat Guy told me that a relative of his passed away suddenly and so did a neighbor of his. It seems that my intutions are getting stronger by the day. Hopefully this is a part of a spiritual calling more than anything else. So we didnt finally catch up in the evening as we had planned (The 3 musketeers ) and all i did was sit and watch some meaningless stuff on TV. I ordered some stuff from New Yorkers and kinda enjoyed it. While it was the nonsense IPL that i was watching on TV from Afternoon to night, the late night has been kept reserved for some great football. This time its the Serie A match between Scrooge's favorite team Juventus vs Roma at the new and fabulous Juventus Ground.
Well, i will call it a day. The week starts tomorrow and i have no idea how will it go and hopefully it will be less taxing.
And i will leave with a beautiful poem for her...

I am here myself; as though this heave of effort
At starting other life, fulfilled my own;
Rose-leaves that whirl in colour round a core
Of seed-specks kindled lately and softly blown

By all the blood of the rose-bush into being -
Strange, that the urgent will in me, to set
My mouth on hers in kisses, and so softly
To bring together two strange sparks, beget

Another life from our lives, so should send
The innermost fire of my own dim soul out-spinning
And whirling in blossom of flame and being upon me!
That my completion of manhood should be the beginning

Another life from mine! For so it looks.
The seed is purpose, blossom accident.
The seed is all in all, the blossom lent
To crown the triumph of this new descent.

Is that it, woman? Does it strike you so?
The Great Breath blowing a tiny seed of fire
Fans out your petals for excess of flame,
Till all your being smokes with fine desire?

Or are we kindled, you and I, to be
One rose of wonderment upon the tree
Of perfect life, and is our possible seed
But the residuum of the ecstasy?

How will you have it? - the rose is all in all,
Or the ripe rose-fruits of the luscious fall?
The sharp begetting, or the child begot?
Our consummation matters, or does it not?

To me it seems the seed is just left over
From the red rose-flowers' fiery transience;
Just orts and slarts; berries that smoulder in the bush
Which burnt just now with marvellous immanence.

Blossom, my darling, blossom, be a rose
Of roses unchidden and purposeless; a rose
For rosiness only, without an ulterior motive;
For me it is more than enough if the flower unclose.

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