No More Procrastination!

H-h-he-he-he-lo-lo-hello! I‘m a-a-al-l-l-li-v-e-aliveee! Excuse my stutter I’m begging you; it is extremely cold out here, you have to understand.

Well, I am not sure if anyone wants to know whether I am alive or not, but I surely want to tell everyone that I am. But, wait, what’s that I hear…

Hmm, dear reader, you say that you care for me, that you are happy to see me back, and what’s more, you say you have never been happier in your life than you are today because you are reading this. Fantastic! I never thought you hold me in such high esteem. You have made my day.  Dear reader, I love you.

There comes a time in a person’s life when he cannot do anything but procrastinate. I, too, am a person (and you have to believe it), so all this while I have procrastinated, and I was informed by many people (near and dear ones, mostly) that I have successfully qualified in becoming a master procrastinator. I want to pursue this activity of procrastination a little longer, as I came to like it very much, but I am not allowed to do that, because if I further procrastinate I will upset some members of my family, and infuriate the rest.

From now on then, I say, if I have to do something, by all means, I will do it. I will do it, that’s it!  But if by any chance I am unable to keep my words, I shall forgive myself.

Copyright © 2014 RAMU DAS

Mutability

The flower that smiles to-day

To-morrow dies;

All that we wish to stay

Tempts and then flies.

What is this world’s delight?

Lightning that mocks the night,

Brief even as bright.

 

Virtue, how frail it is!

Friendship how rare!

Love, how it sells poor bliss

For proud despair!

But we, though soon they fall,

Survive their joy, and all

Which ours we call.

 

Whilst skies are blue and bright,

Whilst flowers are gay,

Whilst eyes that change ere night

Make glad the day;

Whilst yet the calm hours creep,

Dream thou—and from thy sleep

Then wake to weep.

 

By P.B. Shelley

The Day I killed a Sparrow

I smell some fish somewhere. Where? That I need to find out, of course, and how carefully and intelligently I find that out will astonish you my friend, astonish you. Okay, I don’t want to waste my time telling you all about my plans. But, on a serious note what I am going to talk about now will horripilate you my friend, horripilate you.

This happened yesterday as my benefactor lazed on a chair the whole afternoon, quite ill at ease, how suddenly then with the flutter of its wings a sparrow perched upon the railings of my window, my window, mind you!

It noticed me. At first I did not mean to do anything, no harm intended really. So I stood where I was, licking my body and making my skin shiny and silky and then scraping my benefactor’s boots with my strong and sharp claws, making my claws even sharper and stronger. The sparrow did not move an inch farther. “Is it not intimidated looking at my good self?” I thought. Perhaps not, I realized. “How I scared the hell out of that crow the other day, and this tiny creature here would not move an inch.”

So I straightened and puffed up my body to seem bigger and stronger than I really was. The bird shrugged its body, and then let its droppings fall on my benefactor’s cloths. “How dare you!” said I as loud as I could, “this means war!”

The fool of a bird nodded its head. “Hell and damnation!” cried I, my bloodshot eyes were now fully fixed on the bird and I growled and hissed. Just then did the bird tremble with fear and began flying away, but with utmost dexterity and agility I leaped high up in the air and caught the bird by its neck, killed it, and ate it.

But with great sadness I have to tell you that just as the deed was done, my benefactor grabbed my tail and reprimanded me and went on to slap me hard in the face. “What on earth have you done?” cried he. Then, looking at my bloody mouth and the feathers of the bird scattered beside me, he answered his own question: “Killed a bird, oh, a sparrow!”

He preached at great length the advantages of living together in peace and harmony and made me promise never to kill any living being on earth, not even a mouse.

Copyright © 2014 RAMU DAS

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