Room With a View---(Aya Sophia)














I went to the wood because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.

I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary.

I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience and be able to give a true account of my next excursion

Comments

Azam said…
bastard!!
teri tau aisi ki taisi!!
1:00 AM
Amal said…
Still we live meanly, like ants, though the fable tells us that we were long ago changed into men. Like pygmies we fight with cranes. it is error upon error, and clout upon clout, and our best virtue has for its occasion a superfluous and evitable wretchedness. Our life is frittered away by detail.

I cannot tell you how much I have enjoyed and understood reading your posts. And if i have only just credited myself with understanding, please forgive this reader's arrogance in me.
Home- it is as sacred to me as I have seen only you express.

(on orkut it is habit to act deranged. here, i am most honest)
11:56 PM
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Sheep in wolves clothing

Lahore: the city that never sleep. My city of saints, my city of sinners. I am back. For that annual homecoming rite that is a two-week passage of both chaos and excitement, of exaggerated expectations and serendipitous surprises, familiar exhaustion of too much, and too little family. Of paradoxes and mixed emotions. I am home. Every trip the potholes seem deeper, the traffic wilder, the energy crisis more critical...the corruption unconquerable. And yet, no where in the world do the crows crow like they do here. Or the trees on the canal, play with the winter sunlight. No where do oranges and mandarins grow the same earthy smell like a second skin... and no where are the electricity cuts with candles as romantic as here. Throw in a thunderstorm and this place is my version of heaven. If I was an eloquent Pakistani expatriate, I would write a poem worthy of this place; of my convoluted devotion, adoration and obsession juxtaposed with hatred, despair and apathy for here. But I am just...
Read more

La Vie En Rose (Seeing Life through Rose Coloured Glasses)~

Bruce Springsteen always united Ami and me. First there was Dancing in the Dark and then this. Today I stuck a tape in the CD player, which in itself is a visit down memory lane in this digital-infested world, and hearing the song felt the strongest urge to fall in a puddle and get a hearty weeping. How did she do it? That gentle swaying between the feet like a footballer getting the blood flowing to those knotty nerves, while she clicked away on the fingers, head rolled down at an angle and eyes closed. I recall that she always tried to pull me in tango style into the dance but I was too self conscious to let my self go. And then she would grin, goofy style (my mother, she would grin goofy style) and sing the lyrics out of tune and often wrong. And today as the song blared at an obscenely high volume and I looked out the curtain-less window onto an unusually darkened, somewhat melancholy back yard, was reminded of all the missed times when I didn’t dance. Some bugger sang it right: “I...
Read more

Cheers for my Sunny Disposition

We had to go into the depths of purgatory but we retrieved it. The hint of a smile, that damned sunny disposition. Into the clout we rode, deep. Via Stygian we strived, hard against a tide that threatened with every wave to drown us all the way to the deep and murky depths of the Underworld. Covered in black, bruised, we buried deeper into a place where there was no light no hope.......all to retrieve her smile. Like treasure hunters that know not their treasure but continue in the name of a glory, we continued. All around tired souls lured us with their melancholic tunes, their tear-glistening attractive faces. But no! We must not look. Purgatory held its charm. The inferno with its ferocious fire that burned the heart. And then we stumbled upon it. A faint light in the depths of the abyss. A golden hue that lone sparkled, weak like a month trapped in a bell jar. And she fell upon. Stumbled rather, on account of a faint heart and weak legs. It grew--the light--shining harder, stronger...
Read more