lalita larking

An obsession with cryptic crosswords. Everything else falls in place.

Location: Kolkata, India

Sunday, April 01, 2007

Each man kills the thing he loves

"And all men kill the thing they love,

By all let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!"

The surf loves and longs for the beach, you see, but tides dictate terms, so the waves leave kisses and intricate patterns on the sand they are being dragged away from, you said.

It just seems like a rare natural phenomenon, that double rainbow, but it is nature climate and weather signalling that we belong together, you said.

You gave me joy, you taught me passion. You gave me laughter. You taught me to see beauty everywhere in the world.

When we walked on the beach and scrutinised retreating waves and the memories they leave on wet sand, you gave me insight about how yearning shapes us. When we strolled on rain drenched paths and gazed at twin rainbows you taught me that the ephemeral is eternal in memory.

You knew things about me that I never told anybody else. You were the repository of my guilty secrets, foolish hopes and painful memories. You took my hurt, made it your own and I hurt less. You took pride in my achievements and made my joy complete. You gave me hope where I had none, and determination when I wanted to give up.

My trust I gave you, my faith and passion. My grief I shared with you and all my enduring joys. Not a joke that I laughed at went unshared with you. Perhaps I clung too much.

Then, perhaps to balance the joy, you gave me tears and for passion grief. To counter laughter you gave me helpless anger. Alongside beauty there is ugliness now.

I want to turn the clock back and unmake it all. I'd not have revelled in the first joy of finding and bonding had I known this would be future. I'd have walked away before I gave you the power to hurt me.

You gave me a lot of things, just give me one thing more. Turn the clock back.

Unbreak my heart.


Anonymous Ash said...

Brilliant. Now unbreak my heart.

9:00 am  
Blogger Priya said...

I'm speechless. You know why.

1:07 pm  
Anonymous Hehhh said...

Apropos of nothing, I am rather partial to quoting

" And the wild regrets and bloody sweats/none knew so well as I/for he who lives more lives than one/more deaths than one must die" ...

(if I remember it right, that is).

6:43 pm  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Brilliantly observed, the first paragraph and your take on it. Bravo, Lali.
Secret admirer

9:24 pm  
Blogger Lalita said...

Ash- Thank you.

Priya- Yeah. Same boat, angel.

Hehhh- Ooh, look who graces my blog! it is "more deaths that one must die" but that is quibbling on my part.

Anon- Yeah, get a name.

10:33 pm  
Anonymous Song Lady said...

So beautifully written!

9:52 am  
Blogger Lalita said...

Thankee kindly.

2:06 pm  
Anonymous Tivi said...

పద్యాలు నాకు ఎప్పుడూ/ ఇప్పుడు కూడ అర్ధం కావు. ఏదొ జీన్ తప్పి పొయింది
I love this link.

9:28 pm  
Anonymous not_that_anon said...

Or does he really?
Can it be the case that the death is not in the dagger, for there may not be any dagger in the hands of the man who loveth?! There may be anger in the eyes, yes! There maybe teeth, that are clenched; there maybe lips that are frozen stiff, with the warmth of a smile nowhere to be discerned. But the dagger... dagger may not really be anywhere to be found.

Where exactly does then, death resides? Does it then reside somewhere between those two lovely little eyebrows? Or, somewhere in the deep recesses of that mind, hidden somwhere beneath all that color and the dance and strains of music? Or on a page of a calender an year past, the day the man had said that, done that?

No?! Yeah, but ofcourse, it doesnt. How could it? But then... where exactly does it reside? Has it come uninvited? and are we sure about it?

Surely, surely, not me. and surely, t'was not you...

PS: May get a name soon. Thinking of one! :)
Btw, this was a slightly depressing and sad post of yours. Bitter with the sweet...

12:46 am  
Blogger Lalita Mukherjea said...

not_that_anon- I remember musing all this and more when I first read the ballad. That man could make you think, no mistake. The sword could be a slight drawing back, a turning away, a twist in the smile, anything at all...

This is just occasional fiction that I inflict on readers, nothing more. If it was bitter-sweet, my purpose was achieved.

Yay! Do get a name.

10:59 am  

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