Wednesday, 16 September 2009


how sad...
all the glory of humble life they miss--
these great men,
giddyingly engrossed
deep in the glory of their own self-importance.



bluebird said...

one of the best pieces of poetry I've read recently. Sad indeed!

P. Venugopal said...

how sad indeed

Imagination said...

In that engrsossed state they often miss to hear the inner voice really sad.

P. Venugopal said...

far away, a mountain peak was brilliantly lit by the evening sun and all other mountains around were in dark blue shadows. the peak shone like a golden flame and its flare was in the skies, gold and yellow of different hues streaked with the dark blue of drifting rain clouds. we had stopped the vehicle because a large herd of gaur (wild buffallo) was grazing on the hillside to our right and each gaur was visible like a dark speck a long way away in the diffused grey of the darkening shadows. a cool breeze was blowing and the spicy smell of the forests was in the air. the whole scene was charged with mystery and enchantment.

our friend, with his back to the entire scene, was chattering on giving his learned arguments on why all claims about there being tigers in these wild terrain were wrong.

he knew everything; even the beauty that lay brilliantly lit beind him held no fascination for him, because he had been to greater places. he was nit-picking, speaking about inadequacies--the road being not wide enough, the wildlife sightings being too few and far between, the whole grammer of the thing being at variance with what the rule books had set forth etc. etc.

bluebird said...

your last comment is in itself exquisite. Too bad you dont believe in confining words to grammatical structures, because, there is magic woven into them even when you do it so.