Sunshine Too Brief

NYE_2008Portrait

All Contents copyright of
Tazzy at
tashuq78@gmail.com


I'm a self-absorbed Bengali-Torontonian;
Fish comes to me raw, wrappend in seaweed, not cooked in curry;
I love watching thunderstorms and rain;
Sad endings make more sense to me than happy ones;
I hate empty walls.

In the News

Craving of the week-
Dark Chocolate
Reading List-
Midnight's Children
Movie review(out of 5)-
127 hours- *****
Buried- ****
That Girl in Yellow Boots- **
Love of the week-
Seeing James Franco
Aim for the weekend-
Watch 'Going Postal' The Movie

My Novella: Samosa for the Arranged Souls

Introduction & Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapters 3, 4 & 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 6 continues

Chapter 7 & Epilogue


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    Monday

    The End and the Beginning


    There is supposed to be a ceasefire in the middle-east now.
    Will it last?
    Will it even end anything?
    I always thought this *war* (someone should call that already) was really the beginning of something sinister. Worse than 9/11.
    Something resulting from unknown goals of higher personnel; leading to unknown number of death of the little people on all sides. It doesn't even matter now which conspiracy theory you believe in.
    People are dead.
    Dead.


    Thought this poem was quite apt.

    The End and the Beginning

    After every war
    someone has to clean up.
    Things won't
    straighten themselves up, after all.
    Someone has to push the rubble
    to the sides of the road,
    so the corpse-laden wagonscan pass.

    Someone has to get mired
    in scum and ashes,
    sofa springs,
    splintered glass,
    and bloody rags.

    Someone must drag in a girder
    to prop up a wall.
    Someone must glaze a window,
    rehang a door.

    Photogenic it's not,
    and takes years.
    All the cameras have left
    for another war.

    Again we'll need bridges
    and new railway stations.
    Sleeves will go ragged
    from rolling them up.

    Someone, broom in hand,
    still recalls how it was.
    Someone listens
    and nods with unsevered head.
    Yet others milling about
    already find it dull.

    From behind the bush
    sometimes someone still unearths
    rust- eaten arguments
    and carries them to the garbage pile.

    Those who knew
    what was going on here
    must give way to
    those who know little.
    And less than little.
    And finally as little as nothing.

    In the grass which has overgrown
    causes and effects,
    someone must be stretched out,
    blade of grass in his mouth,
    gazing at the clouds.

    by Wislawa Szymborska
    (translated from the Polish by Joanna Trzeciak)
    From SiroccoBlog

    4 Comments:

    At 4:03 PM, August 14, 2006, Blogger >>yvonne said...

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    At 1:37 PM, August 15, 2006, Blogger Tazzy said...

    Sounds interesting Yvonne but I'm not with Rogers and I don't plan to change from my current cell phone provider as I'm moving out to BC in a week or so.

     
    At 7:14 PM, August 28, 2006, Blogger NAB said...

    darn. have you moved already? gosh, totally slipped my mind. anyways, my sister's email id is disha.albaqui@gmail.com. just tell her i gave it to you. had told her about you before. she's cool...darn, this was so bad of me.

     
    At 3:18 AM, September 02, 2006, Blogger Tazzy said...

    Thanks Nowal. Thats very sweet of you.
    I'll touch base with her once i'm more settled in.

    Cheers.

     

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