Member Rara Avis
Mumbai, India : now in Belgium
Severn, I hope I do come up to your expectations while presenting this one for the challenge...
...Lets see how I fared...
Looking at the still waters of the pond,
With fleeting memories held tight,
A contracted gloomy figure, in sight
Entertaining thoughts of a broken bond.
Severed from the body was the soul,
A distant shadow of a life, the figure once had,
Events of the past as dark as coal,
Appeared a reflection of a living dead.
Watched from a distant, an interested being,
With devotion of a pilgrim,
Stared at the face ever so grim,
Picturesque location intrigues his viewing.
The sketch-maker devoted a few lines,
Then went across to gloom's son,
"Man, is there something wrong?" asked the curious one,
"Well, friend, nothing's wrong that can be righted", said he
"These eyes hurt because of the bright sun"
"A few clouds won't cause the sun to run"
The pain felt said he, "was of love's death premature"
"Crucified for petty benefits, material gains"
"She wanted diamonds, ah, a simple feminine pleasure"
"This person couldn't spend none, caused all these pains"
"Grief-stricken from poverty, she felt left out, desolate",
"She left that house you see yonder, went on"
"To live with some one else rich and desperate"
"To this broken soul, all she said was 'move on!'"
Grief's child lent out a wail,
The sketch-maker, offered him a few words of solace,
Into the distance again he looked, a look so frail,
Curiosity absolved, interview done, felt a serious loss.
Sorrowful waters, the pond now in misery,
The brightness of the sun, now did hurt,
Millions of questions arose, a treachery,
Committed by one being to another, it really hurt.
Years went by, as the story itself did sadly repeat,
Pointing repeatedly - there's always more than meets the eye,
I heard, grief's child died a mournful death, his lost love he never did meet,
That day, gloom's son had his place filled up by the sketch-maker, I.
------ pretty sad, eh??? sniff, sniffy little I ------
Hey you, out there in the cold,
Getting lonely, getting old, can you feel me?
Hey you, standing in the aisle,
With itchy feet and fading smile, can you feel me?
Hey you, don't help them to bury the light.
Don't give in without a fight.
Hey you, out there on your own,
Sitting naked by the phone, would you touch me?
Hey you, with your ear against the wall,
Waiting for someone to call out, would you touch me?
Hey you, would you help me to carry the stone?
Open your heart, I'm coming home....
by Roger Waters (Pink Floyd) - The Wall
[This message has been edited by Sudhir Iyer (edited 05-30-2000).]