Sunday, April 29, 2007


Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

- Dylan Thomas

It was at a Poetry Symposium that I came upon this poem, the presenters were coincidentally 3 PRC students, who made a real gallant effort in bringing out the essence of the poem. Death was the main theme. Of course, not death as death itself, but a reaction to death. Dylan Thomas wrote the poem urging his ill-stricken father not to give up the fight for life, but instead to stay the course and to persevere in his good fight for life, against death’s conquest. Thomas goes to the extent of expressing his disdain and his seething anger at the “dying of the light”, which he saw as life’s ultimate betrayal.

In all truth, when I first heard of this poem, I thought little of it. I thought of the poem as an emotional psychological reaction to one’s encounter with death and that the poet was failing to recognize that it was time for his father to leave this life. I guess my association with the poem was abruptly put to an end at that very juncture, and I committed it to the deep recesses of my memory banks, until yesterday…

Now I know, Thomas knew the realities he faced. Like a child, whose only weapon is her rage, he channels his anger at this indomitable facet of life. For one, entrapped in a childlike malaise, we can only hope that reality overturns itself, even against all the odds. Will it? Can it? We stubbornly ascertain it has to. It must!

Thursday, April 19, 2007

Tag a rag tag

Ok to cast all the gloom aside, I’ve decided to entertain myself to this little tag a rag tag. Of course, I got tagged, tagged by Gavin, who got tagged by someone else. I think I’m suppose to tag someone too, and that someone is to tag another person, get the idea!

Rules of the game: each player of this game starts off with 10 weird things or habits or little known facts about yourself. People who get tagged must write in a blog of their own 10 weird things or habits or little known facts as well as state this rule clearly. At the end you must choose as many people as you like to be tagged and list their names. No tagbacks!

1) I am fastidiously superstitious. I always repeat rituals that promise success such as going into the exam hall with 2 blue pens, one black pen, 2 pencils, an eraser, and a ruler. I did not follow that recipe for my As, and I screwed up!

2) I have a really high external locus of control, in other words, I’m a fatalist! Which is perhaps of the reasons why I believe that there is no such thing as ‘free-will’ or ‘free-choice’

3) I dig my nose unconsciously/consciously all the time, to the disgust of everyone around me..Hehe

4) When I was a kid I was afraid of sleeping on my back as I was afraid I might see the bogey man when I wake up in the middle of the night

5) I always talk to ladies like talking to guys, which is why I never get very far in relationships.

6) I’m a mummy’s boy! Amen to that.

7) When I make Milo. I must always mix the milo powder with the evaporated milk, then make it into a dough of sorts, and then add hot water into it to make the drink.

8) I think in images, not words. Some of you might find tat surprising, if you know me well enough.

9) I can never figure out the easiest things. Try teaching me how to open a locker or to use a simple programme. Before you know it, I’m back there asking you the same questions and usually the cycle repeats itself

10) I always use any random words that come to mind, why might explain the queer vocab usage

I know, it’s boring, but I just can’t think of anything else that might satisfy my own curiosity. I tag anyone who has not been tagged by this tag-a-rag tag.

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

In pace requiescat

The shadowy hue of an April morn, cast a blank shroud upon these solemn walls,
The dedication upon which these stone bricks bring, the excellence of academics it promises
A reflection of the young and old, who through the years have thronged through these halls, and envisaged the attainment of knowledge, of fortune this knowledge will bring. For it took pain and anguish to attain, to achieve it took pride, pride in oneself and the age old code, of which all recite at the back of their hand.
Of history, this tale will tell – not of promise as one would perceive. But of death and anguish it will say, this is the plot this tale will tell.
A raging madness, a yearning for revenge, embedded in one single mind, his thoughts possessed. That death must come to all who live – upon the code which this world stands. For the sight of this world brings in him – the feel of seething rage and revenge. Upon which no act can come to past, but death, only death will be the answer.

Anger personifies a humanoid, for three quick rounds the clock hand weaves. The weapons – the articles of destruction, embellished with a tart and a rancor of rage.

The fumes of death arise, above the age old walls which stand. The perfection of excellence with it, as a silent clam overcomes the heinous site. Of grief, we will tell, of grief, we know. That tomorrow, will be a different day. For the same cheery faces we see, they are gone. For the sweet smiles that enlighten each brutish day, they are past. For our existence, it seems vulnerable. The whispers of “it could have been us” hushes through the walls, a silent fear what tomorrow will bring. There is one who stands afraid, for she knows not what will happen to her kind. There is another who stands astounded, a hero himself to have fought rage’s work, but he too is confused. There is this individual who captured it all, but he too seeks solace from the scene.

So what can be told of this tragic tale, but it’s victims of which we mourn. All 33 of them .

No sorrow can replace their lost; no grief would bring them back.
But only the realization of those beautiful moments, their young lives have touched or would have effected. For it is this promise which we will keep, the promise of life which they have been robbed, which now each of us possess, to live a better life, a better life in their memory, a better life for us all.

To the fallen 33, In pace requiescat.

Sunday, April 08, 2007

Exams.. are round the corner..and time is running short.. running short like everything's in a rush.. I've got econs, psych and philo..before the night is done..everything's come this metha lonely hunt..for grades..for scholarship.. whatever the motivation..or just to please sweet mama..even that I'm not quite certain. Just one thing I've been made to is time..time..time..and we're always running short of time.. If I can scream my rage at time for it's deep unconcerning gleam at my deep pathetic state is time my shroud to be for time prences by like some jolly christmas fun to cheer the old folks and filthy cheery kids lampooning as sad old nicholas as he so jolly be!

Note..this aint how I feel, I'm doing Plath's poetry, and I'm just trying to mimic her..