We stare at the young girl chasing a yellow butterfly
On the summer roads that lead from Nothing to Nowhere.
And the Grey Man that waits on the road from Nothing to Nowhere
Does not care how the breezes and butterflies move their four wings-
But the young girl chases the yellow butterfly
Happiness.... what is the dust that lies on its wings?
Oh, How I love Edith Sitwell. She believed that Poetry is the deification of reality, and one of its purposes is to show that the dimensions of man are, as Sir Arthur Eddington said, 'half way between those of an atom and a star.'
Perhaps, all that is happening now has happened in another world ages ago. Bit of a dreamy writing this is but something that we all long for, don't we? I like the very Indian essence that arises with colours and liveliness that springs into action when happiness comes knocking on our doors. It is a dreamy after-thought that 'love being the essence of life' still gets recognition among philosophical debates and poets who tread between the invisible lives of many. In turbulent times as these, every bit of peace and harmony is what we desperately wish for. My mind keeps going back to and comparing the World War years to times now. The atmosphere and situation is exactly akin to those years of destruction of hopes and dreams of young and old. Who are we mistaken? The violence and mindless display of political propaganda on world stage is nauseating and sick to the core. I cannot write enough what anger it brings in me to see and realize that nothing has changed and that we have not learned from past power mistakes. It's the same old team since 1916. A hundred years since the war and we are inching and in the midst of another already. What a pity!
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