I was in a bus from ahmedabad to mumbai last weekend, and the name ‘A.E. Housman’ kept echoing in my mind. Fighting sleep and the dubbed version of spiderman that they were playing, I thought and thought, tried to enter some long forgotten part of memory. Who the hell is he? On thinking very hard and fighting the external noises and hunger and sleep even harder, i remembered he was a poet I had read in my 10th or 11th grade from this book “100 poems by 100 poets” that i flicked from the british library. Now it was a bigger task to find that poetry, all i knew was it was very dark, something like a mercyful fate song. Today i googled whatever words that came to my mind about A.E. Housman and yeah baby I found it! Google is such a blessing! phew!
So, here’s that poetry
Her strong enchantments failing,
Her towers of fear in wreck,
Her limbecks dried of poisons
And the knife at her neck,
The Queen of air and darkness
Begins to shrill and cry,
`O young man, O my slayer
To-morrow you shall die.’
O Queen of air and darkness
I think ’tis truth you say,
And I shall die to-morrow;
But you shall die to-day.
A.E. Housman
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A cool breeze carrying the beedi smoke,
A drunk man whispering to the closed doors,
Distant cries of hungry babies,
Mother bares all,
Cries get louder.
The man screams at the door,
Almost sure it won’t open,
But his screams get louder.
Sleepy faces stare into the darkness,
Searching dreamily for the sun.
For home.
For children.
And for lost love.
A man lies in the corner,
He’s been there forever,
the official comes,
feels his pulse,
shakes his head.
The dreamy faces come to life,
Let him go! Let him go! They scream.
They lift him up
And he passes through the door.
The drunk man is now clawing,
Banging with might,
Begging and praying.
But the door won’t open.
The babies won’ smile.
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Again I set to sail,
To newer lands.
Every wave brings a new dream,
Every dream breaks into a new reality.
No memories, mo priceless moments,
Just a few wild spirits I leave behind,
Or do I take them along.
A friend shall I call you?
Or a teacher or a radical?
Not from your womb,
But not apart either.
A lost poet, a pure soul,
Walks around with broken bones,
Ride on my boy, the world awaits,
Go and chase those hot blonde dames,
Someday they will embrace.
A knight in shining armour or,
Is he from the kings court they ask,
But deep inside he is a wild tornado,
Man of few words but they suffice,
Drown the sorrows man,
and pray for the next world cup.
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If I fail to dream, to live and love
Darlin’ let me lie in her arms,
Let me pass through the wall,
Breathing this misty air
Let me flow away in these wild rivers.
Let her children play with me
And squeeze out my last words.
If I fail to dream, to live and love
Darlin’ let me lie in her arms,
And in that death
I would live more than I could ever do
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