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Random Images

Trees

by Alfred Joyce Kilmer

I think that I shall never see, A poem as lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest, Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day, And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear, A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain; Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree.

Extreme Adventure of Sorts

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On A Sunday Afternoon

On a Sunday afternoon, this house is normally filled with a cacophony of noise: housemates bursting into laughter and stories of days gone by; the television, to a near-maximum volume, spews forth news of people and events; and very loud music can be heard from a neighbour’s house kilometres away. But on this particular Sunday afternoon, I am alone. In the distance, I hear the Muslim chants. In my room the only sounds come from a gray machine emanating cool air in this humid weather, and the tap tap of my keyboard. The usually noisy dogs are still, for a change. And surprisingly, I don’t hear my neighbour’s radio and its tasteless music. It is refreshing to be surrounded by silence – even if for a while.

~~~~~

My copy of Nicholas Sparks’s A Walk To Remember is on my bedside table, on top of all those Time magazines I have not had the time to thoroughly read. I lay on my bed, staring at the white-painted ceiling and my mind wanders to tomorrow – when I will return to the hustle and bustle of the city and the noise – strangely magnified. I make plans for the work which is to greet me, piles and piles of paperwork – endless. I grope for the philosophy which continues to be my mantra when met with huge and seemingly insurmountable tasks – one step at a time. That set aside, my mind drifts off to something else…

I have made a birthday resolution to save up for whatever and, yesterday, having withdrawn funds from the money dispenser for the necessary expenses, I take a peek at that small, white sheet of paper printed out by it – in bank parlance, transaction receipt – and heave a sigh. I got myself, at the incessant prodding of my superior, a jewellery set – ring and earrings – of sparkling diamonds embellished on rich gold. They carry a design of leaves intertwined – classic, and yes, beautiful. I am not into adornments, however, and the quite expensive price of the set makes it more heavy than it really is. The only nice thing in this whole transaction is that I get to pay the jewelleries in instalments, eight to be exact. And I kid myself into thinking – and also to lighten my burden – that it is an investment. Besides, that’s my only expense and I still have much in the bank. That set aside, my mind drifts off to something else…

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The noise returns –

28 March 2009