Musings on Monday Mornings

There's a big date today at 3.30pm with Destiny. But like all desirable women from whom we want something, she'll keep me waiting. And when I finally get my time with her, she will be dismissive, evasive and indifferent. She doesn’t know of all the people standing outside in the line that stretches to eternity and often beyond. There I'll linger with the other enthusiasts who have come to her to drink their bit from her well. AndI assume I will be unprepared. Still my shy self, troubled by the soul bearing that is mandated for the interview. She'll coax me into doing what she wants, even though my teachers have instructed me in the art of asking for what I want. Is it I who wants it? Is this what I want? And I will stumble through my speech, appear incoherent and at the end of the interview assume she understood what I had asked for—cherubim flesh with eyes that shine adoration. It was I love I had, a longing for Destiny to play her course with me. But it is the ravens ...

She smiles. Its always the little things that matter. A perfect picture with a glimpse of a tear on a smile, a hollow look, a turned cheek. Something read between the lines. It drizzles outside...and little tears fall down the pane, tracing gullies of dirt down a shadowy path to the point where it trickles outside the vision. What are they crying for? The depressive calm of grey outside the window is strangely reassuring. A leaf out of place, a whispered breeze may break this calm. And the rush will come, with the storm raging its heart out. Till then its silent, with the drizzle drumming a gentle beat of tears on the pane. It continues. But still she smiles on. And this perfectness we assumed would continue, that it would not come...the day when tomorrow was too far away in thought and even further in sustainability. Today is a burden even. She knew it but she never thought about it. Was there much peace bought on the hope that it might last? At least the smile was accompanied by some...

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone, Silence the pianos and with muffled drum Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come. Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead, Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves, Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong. The stars are not wanted now: put out every one; Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun; Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood. For nothing now can ever come to any good.

And so it is Just like you said it would be Life goes easy on me Most of the time And so it is The shorter story No love, no glory No hero in her sky I can't take my eyes off you I can't take my eyes off you I can't take my eyes off you I can't take my eyes off you I can't take my eyes off you I can't take my eyes... And so it is Just like you said it should be We'll both forget the breeze Most of the time And so it is The colder water The blower's daughter The pupil in denial I can't take my eyes off you I can't take my eyes off you I can't take my eyes off you I can't take my eyes off you I can't take my eyes off you I can't take my eyes... Did I say that I loathe you? Did I say that I want to Leave it all behind? I can't take my mind off you I can't take my mind off you I can't take my mind off you I can't take my mind off you I can't take my mind off you I can't take my mind... My mind...my mind... ...