The Ballad Of Father Gilligan

The old priest Peter Gilligan
Was weary night and day;
For half his flock were in their beds,
Or under green sods lay.

Once, while he nodded on a chair,
At the moth-hour of eve,
Another poor man sent for him,
And he began to grieve.

‘I have no rest, nor joy, nor peace,
For people die and die';
And after cried he, ‘God forgive!
My body spake, not I!’

He knelt, and leaning on the chair
He prayed and fell asleep;
And the moth-hour went from the fields,
And stars began to peep.

They slowly into millions grew,
And leaves shook in the wind;
And God covered the world with shade,
And whispered to mankind.

Upon the time of sparrow-chirp
When the moths came once more.
The old priest Peter Gilligan
Stood upright on the floor.

‘Mavrone, mavrone! the man has died
While I slept on the chair';
He roused his horse out of its sleep,
And rode with little care.

He rode now as he never rode,
By rocky lane and fen;
The sick man’s wife opened the door:
‘Father! you come again!’

‘And is the poor man dead?’ he cried.
‘He died an hour ago.’
The old priest Peter Gilligan
In grief swayed to and fro.

‘When you were gone, he turned and died
As merry as a bird.’
The old priest Peter Gilligan
He knelt him at that word.

‘He Who hath made the night of stars
For souls who tire and bleed,
Sent one of His great angels down
To help me in my need.

‘He Who is wrapped in purple robes,
With planets in His care,
Had pity on the least of things
Asleep upon a chair.’

William Butler Yeats

Truth and Lie

Truth when you tell

And with pride your chest swell,

Then you have to know something my friend

One who speaks the truth, brings his life to an end

Look at me, battered and in pain, what have I become?

I should have lied and not given such liberty to my tongue  

I should have been submissive and accepted the lie for the truth

I should have known only lies triumph and lies produce sweet fruit

So, learn from me, oh you who are honest and you who speak not lie

I am almost a dead man now; learn from me, oh you who don’t want to die.

 

Copyright © 2014 RAMU DAS

Comma, Full Stop, Delete

It’s been a while since I sat down to write a story so I thought I would give it a try today. In the morning I formed some ideas in my head and worked on it zealously. I wrote three pages. At the last sentence I did not put a full stop, though the sentence seemed absolutely complete. Oh, it is only because I wanted to expand the story a little more, thus I put a comma instead. In the evening I began working on the story once again. I changed the comma to a full stop because I could not think of doing anything about it. My mind fully stopped working. I read what I wrote, it seemed terrible, so I deleted the whole damn thing I had written.

Anyway, not writing the story prompted me to write what you are reading presently. So, thank you for reading (ha!) and I am sorry there is no wisdom in this post. I am going to go ahead and recover what I was writing (for that is the backbone of my story) from the recycle bin of my desktop.

 

Copyright © 2014 RAMU DAS

When I am dead, my dearest

When I am dead, my dearest,

Sing no sad songs for me;

Plant thou no roses at my head,

Nor shady cypress tree:

Be the green grass above me

With showers and dewdrops wet;

And if thou wilt, remember,

And if thou wilt, forget.

 

I shall not see the shadows,

I shall not feel the rain;

I shall not hear the nightingale

Sing on, as if in pain:

And dreaming through the twilight

That doth not rise nor set,

Haply I may remember,

And haply may forget.

 

By Christina Rossetti

My Cat Says “Meow!”

True indeed, animals have feelings and they express their feelings by different ways, for instance, a dog wags its tail when it is happy, a cat purrs to show its affection or when it wants affection shown to it.

I have a cat (had a dog as well but it died quite an unnatural death). One day, and which, I think, was the day before yesterday, this cat of mine went missing. Making complete use of my eyes and body I looked here, I moved here, I looked there, I moved there, and I looked everywhere where my eyes could see and body could move, but the cat was nowhere to be seen.

Has the cat gone away? Have I lost it? Has someone stolen it? I thought. These thoughts saddened me greatly; heaven knows how dear to me my cat is. Then, determined, I ventured out at… hmmm… the time? Oh, I have no clue what time it was, but this much I can say that the night was pitch black and much heavy rains did fall that night.

Several times I called my cat by its name. No answer did I get in reply – no, not even once. Now I was fully wet with the rain water, but I cared less about whether I was wet or not, for I was more concerned about my cat. An hour had passed away. Then, in the same manner as we turn off the key of the tap when we no longer want water, how suddenly the rains ceased falling as though the gods turned off some key, and everything was quite.

I have never been to the terrace of our building. I had no business there and I was not curios to know what might be there. However, that day when I was looking for my cat, for the first time, I felt it was necessary to go up the stairs and reach the terrace, for I have explored my vicinity in search of my cat, but having no luck, I thought of what remained unexplored, and at the flash of a second I got the answer: the terrace.

Curse my luck, rarely do we face power cut, and further I must say, on the day I went looking for my cat, I realized it was one such rare days. “But I am young and strong and all,” said I to myself, out loud, “being young and strong, who can stop me from climbing a ten-story building!” Thus, I displayed tremendous zeal and reached the peak of our building. And lo and behold! There was my darling cat, but she was not alone, someone was with her, er, what do you call, er… her boyfriend! My cat, upon seeing me, greeted me with a meow, came close to me and started purring (and she said to me, “Master mine, this fellow here is my soul mate.)”. Then, her boyfriend, taking a hint from her, greeted me and started purring as well. “Blessed be thou!” I said to them, and both the cats started purring and mewing at the same time.

 

Copyright © 2014 RAMU DAS

If –

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream — and not make dreams your master;
If you can think — and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build’em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings — nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And which is more; you’ll be a Man, my son!

 

By Rudyard Kipling

The Love Song

A poet once wrote a love song and it was beautiful. And he made many copies of it, and sent them to his friends and his acquaintances, both men and women, and even to a young woman whom he had met but once, who lived beyond the mountains.

And in a day or two a messenger came from the young woman brining a letter. And in the letter she said, “Let me assure you, I am deeply touched by the love song that you have written to me. Come now, and see my father and my mother, and we shall make arrangements for the betrothal.”

And the poet answered the letter, and he said to her, “My friend, it was but a song of love out of a poet’s heart, sung by every man to every woman.”

And she wrote again to him saying, “Hypocrite and lair in words! From this day unto my coffin-day I shall hate all poets for your sake.”

By Kahlil Gibran