The day after

Here I am writing my second post. And I have already ran out of words. But more than the unruly words it is perhaps my extreme self-consciousness which is holding me back. Why is it so difficult for me to be just me?

Came home early today. Spent the whole evening indoors (as usual). Read some of my favourite blogs (utterly enjoyable they are). Heard Farida Khanum croon "Aaj Jane Ki Zid Na Karo" (unbearably romantic). Also Dire Straits' "Sultan of Swing" (simply cool). Saw Pramod Mahajan's funeral photos in the newspapers (a buried pain resurfaces). Think of something else to do (a necessry change of mood). Go out and have a chicken roll, one lassi, a butterscotch icecream cone (mood uplifted). On my way back a long-forgotten old poem suddenly comes to my mind (I remember only the title). Thanks to Google, I locate the poem (satisfaction). A beautiful love poem (from the famous beat generation poet/songwriter Rod McKuen). Here it is:


SONG WITHOUT WORDS

I wanted to write you some words you'd remember
words so alert they'd leap from the paper
and crawl up your shoulder and lie by your ears
and be there to comfort you down through the years.
But it was cloudy that day and I was lazy
and so I stayed in bed all day just thinking about it...

I wanted to write you and tell you that maybe
love songs for lovers are unnecessary.
We are what we feel and writing it down
seems foolish sometimes without vocal sound.
But I spent the day drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes
And looking in the mirror practicing my smile.

I wanted to write you one last long love song
That said what I feel one final time.
Not comparing your eyes and mouth to the stars
but telling you only how like yourself you are.
But by the time I thought of it, found a pen,
put the pen to ink, the ink to paper,
you were gone.

And so this song has no words.

- from Listen to the Warm, 1967

PS: I think I will 'internalize' this and reproduce as and when required, just in case I desperately need to impress 'someone'.