"Auld lang syne" (Burns)
Cock-o-leekie, a dram, the blessing
Of spiced sheep entrails. Oriental, alien,
I celebrate the poet's death
In Mughal sequins and tartan socks.
"Should auld acquaintance be forgot" he muses
Over ancient whisky. "It's good to see you":
Honest sentiment whose glass words lash my throat.
How I cut you in days passed! shameful
Insults over your clothes, dismissive reproofs
For stuttering through a familiar page.
Yours was a silent suffering, a martyr's fate,
The most painful kind. On cruel April days
Muddy-kneed cherubim cursed your cricket:
Bowling like a spak, batting like a prat.
When I hid in darkness, did I hear the cries,
Exasperated, "Eloi, Eloi, lema sabbachtani"?
Surely I saw a boy, crouched under a tree,
Clutching a clarinet, composing songs for distant God?
So this is grace: a party for a bully,
A calf for a fugitive, a life for a death.
Sanjay
Of spiced sheep entrails. Oriental, alien,
I celebrate the poet's death
In Mughal sequins and tartan socks.
"Should auld acquaintance be forgot" he muses
Over ancient whisky. "It's good to see you":
Honest sentiment whose glass words lash my throat.
How I cut you in days passed! shameful
Insults over your clothes, dismissive reproofs
For stuttering through a familiar page.
Yours was a silent suffering, a martyr's fate,
The most painful kind. On cruel April days
Muddy-kneed cherubim cursed your cricket:
Bowling like a spak, batting like a prat.
When I hid in darkness, did I hear the cries,
Exasperated, "Eloi, Eloi, lema sabbachtani"?
Surely I saw a boy, crouched under a tree,
Clutching a clarinet, composing songs for distant God?
So this is grace: a party for a bully,
A calf for a fugitive, a life for a death.
Sanjay