Saturday, April 7

This week I got two books; one still hot from the press, a novel by my friend. My friend is critical care doctor. He dances with life and death. The other book is “Godsong” – a celebration of friendship between God and Man. Amit Majmadar is a doctor too. He dances with life and death too. He strives to kill the emperor of all maladies – cancer.

My wife is a singer, she is training her voice, and planning the teaching details for the next semester. A sitar, a tabla-duo and a harmonium and printed article on quantum suicide.

This is the morning. Eggs, avocado and few slices of bread. Marlowe's Dr. Faustus was on the floor. I picked it up and read to my wife: “run, softly, softly, horses of the night ...”
This was the morning.

My wife is doing her nails; terracotta color on toes. She called. I left my laptop in the study. Toes are blazing like sumptuous butea. I kissed. Rabindranath on youtube.

It's April and still cold and snowy.
I lament not …

I shall not ask the sun to come.
I shall not ask the dandelions to bloom.
Water in the river is stiller than still.
Cedars in my yard is tall and proud.
I lament not ...

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