If you can watch the things you gave your life to, broken,And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools . . .
It’s been a long long time since I posted anything. Roads I traveled the past month were rough. It has been a very sad month really. I lost the battle I had been fighting for years with my heart and soul. I fought for truth and lost. I failed. And with this defeat a chapter of my life seems to have ended too.
And here I am – left with the broken pieces of my most cherished dreams. With half of my life over and a defeat to mark its fruitless end, I stand on cross-roads contemplating which road to choose now. I remember Milton:
When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodg’d with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account . . .
All I can tell you is that it was a battle of principles. And I fought with all the goodness, with all the goodwill that life has given me. Had it been a personal battle the injuries would not have been so deep.
And do you know what I discovered? I discovered that I am still a child at heart, who has not grown up, a child who believes that his every little wound would be attended, that he is yet to step into the adult world which goes by very different set of rules.
Yes my friends, this world of grownups goes by very different set of laws. And I have failed to learn them.There are no fathers in this world who stand by you to guard you against rough winds, there are no mothers, in whose warm lap you can hide your face and shed your most painful tears. No, no one – to forgive your mistakes, to understand your needs, to fulfill your little desires.
And then I feel like running away – far far away from this world that does not know how to love, to respect, and to understand.
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,And live alone in the bee-loud glade.And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,And evening full of the linnet’s wings.I will arise and go now, for always night and dayI hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,I hear it in the deep heart’s core.
It is true that I am among those fortunate few who have the means and the choice of running away, away from this world of disappointments and heartbreaks. But the question is, should I be an escapist? Should I run away from this battlefield of my life? Should I turn my back on millions of those who are motherless and fatherless in this love-forsaken world. My education does not allow me this cowardice which I despise more than anything else. So my friends, give me some time – to collect the broken pieces and weave a new garland and find anew my place in this teeming world where I have but few days to live and fight – for a better world . . .