Sunday, May 22, 2011

where the city meets the sky

Hear now then
That you come to me
Drenched to the bone
I’ve longed for you
On days like this

When your firework is thunder
And you are rowdy like
Banging windows and breaking glass
When I’ve given up hope and fallen asleep
It makes me shed the rancour I’ve slept with
To see you so joyously so prodigally raining
In the dark morning and I see that all this while
I've been planning an escape needlessly

In shades of melancholy you are pouring
After the hot days of nil moisture
And I realize it’s your infinite grace
That I’m neither forever wet nor
Constantly thirsty and here I have
Spat on you as if you were
A burnt worn tire in the desert
And made up my mind to leave you

You love me in infinite ways
And make it interesting
Disappearing behind the dunes
You return with a storm
Just as I’m about finished
Packing my last things



That city is yours
This city is mine
Mine is small and within me
Within this girth of yours
I find you in small measures
But when the surge of greatness
Is what I ask to feel
You visit mine with all that’s yours
In visions of dams bursting and
The waters sweeping in

The big Calcutta and
The little Calcutta
are the same city



Most blameless are you of the times
I have gone out and there has
Been no sign of you
or your liveried footmen
who’d hold up an umbrella for me
in evident sympathy while promising
they couldn’t have any news for me
Those have been the many ages
Here is one before me
And I don’t know if at all
mine has been the longer wait
as i wonder how fast you've had to run
When you so sweep me off my feet



i've never been very particularly fond of rain. but now i'l fain admit that it is all i wait for. the waiting for seems important in this case because i think constant rains will upset the apple cart. but what is one to do in this heat. it is almost a cliche so much so i hate it myself when any conversation of late turns to the topic of our horrible weather. because suddenly one day it will rain like heavens only knows and then what the fuck are you talking about. for me more than consciously waiting for the rainy day i sincerely hope that the rainy day stays once it's here. earlier i'd like the overcast sky; right now i don't mind the actual raining. in one hundred years it rains for a little over four years. although i vaguely remember macondo otherwise described as a stifling hot place i think that all that rain is a little extreme. i personally would have hated it. in the book i write it's never going to rain that long. in fact it's going to rain often but never constantly. in between when the hero is a child there has to be enough space between showers for the fields to dry and football to happen. later when there is a lot of sighing and burning followed by melancholy and ennui of love it should rain whenever it gets too tedious. it will rain at the right time so as to take full advantage of what the empyrean can offer in terms of light and ambience and be rain of a refreshing kind. i'l not be too particular about the volume of it but by evening or next morning whichever is earlier the field should be ready to play. then again if the lovers should have bunked work let the river come in and the flood be a real nuisance outside while inside uninterrupted love goes to work. in that case my rains will have to accommodate both things. that is a lot of expectation from rain, even in the imagination; but the traffic is not all one direction if you ask me. to earnest rain i provide love and football and although it can choose only one it doesn't seem a very giant leap in my mind to be able to want both at the same time so i'd wish it would do exactly that.

No comments: