Gaurav Sagar > Recent Status Updates

Drunk with pines and long kisses,
like summer I steer the fast sail of the roses,
bent towards the death of the thin day,
stuck into my solid marine madness.

Pale and lashed to my ravenous water,
I cruise in the sour smell of the naked climate,
still dressed in grey and bitter sounds
and a sad crest of abandoned spray.

Body of a woman, white hills, white thighs,
you look like a world, lying in surrender.
My rough peasant's body digs in you
and makes the son leap from the depth of the earth.

I was alone like a tunnel. The birds fled from me,
and night swamped me with its crushing invasion.
To survive myself I forged you like a weapon,
like an arrow in my bow, a stone in my sling.

The road came out of the orchard on the top of the hill. There was the cottage, the porch bare, smoke coming from the chimney. In the back was the garage, the chicken coop, and the second-growth timber like a hedge against woods behind. The big trees swayed far over in the wind as he watched. It was the first of the autumn storms.

My mind has never lacked learning,
Few mysteries remain unconned;
I have meditated for seventy-two years night and day,
To learn that nothing has been learned at all.

Today, tomorrow is not within your reach,
To think of it is only morbid:
If the heart is awake, do not waste this moment-
There is no proof of life's continuance.

My rule of life is to drink and be merry,
To be free from belief and unbelief is my religion:
I asked the Bride of Destiny her bride-price,
'Your joyous heart,' she said.

I cannot live without the sparkling vintage,
Cannot bear the body's burden without wine:
I am a slave to the last gasp when the wine-server says.
'Have another,' and I can't.

The good and evil that are in man' heart,
The joy and sorrow that are our fortune and destiny,
Do not impute them to the wheel of heaven because, in the light of reason,
The wheel is a thousand times more helpless than you.

Alas, the book pf youth is finished,
The fresh spring of life has become winter;
The state which they call youth,
It is not perceptible when it began and when it is closed.

1
Although I have a handsome face and colour,
Cheek like the tulips, form like the cypress,
It is not clear why the Eternal Painter
Thus tricked me out for the dusty show-booth of earth.

2
He began my creation with constraint,
By giving me life he added only confusion;
We depart reluctantly still not knowing
The aim of birth, existence, departure.

3
Heaven's wheel gained nothing from my coming,.......

1
Although I have a handsome face and colour,
Cheek like the tulips, form like the cypress,
It is not clear why the Eternal Painter
Thus tricked me out for the dusty show-booth of earth.

2
He began my creation with constraint,
By giving me life he added only confusion;
We depart reluctantly still not knowing
The aim of birth, existence, departure.

3
Heaven's wheel gained nothing from my coming,.......

Indian Camp

In the early morning on the lake sitting in the stern of the boat with his father rowing, he felt quite sure that he would never die.

Indian Camp

In the early morning on the lake sitting in the stern of the boat with his father rowing, he felt quite sure that he would never die.

Up in Michigan

Liz liked Jim very much. She liked it the way he walked over from the shop and often went to the kitchen door to watch for him to start down the road. She liked it about his moustache. She liked it about how white his teeth were when he smiled. She liked it very much that he didn't look like a blacksmith.

A faint, sarcastic grin flickered across Sharikov's mouth and he poured out glasses of vodka all round.

'You act just as if you were on parade here,' he said. 'Put your napkin here, you tie there, "please", "thank you", "excuse me"- why can't you behave naturally? Honestly, you stuffed shirts act as if it was still the days of tsarism.'

January 8th Late this evening diagnosis finally agreed. With the impartiality of a true scholar Philip Philipovich has acknowledged his error: transplantation of the pituitary induces not rejuvenation but total humanisation (under lined three times). This does not, however, lessen the value of his stupendous discovery.

Then he was sorry for the great fish that had nothing to eat and his determination to kill him never relaxed in his sorrow for him. How many people will he feed, he thought. But are they worthy to eat him? No, of course not. There is no one worthy of eating him from the manner of his behavior and his dignity.

He no longer dreamed of storms, nor of women,nor of great occurrences, nor of great fish, nor fights, nor contents of strength, nor of his wife. He only dreamed of places now and of the lions on the beach.

You could get through a life, if you were careful, and lucky, without having your courage much tested- or rather, your cowardice revealed.

But she had marked his life in so many ways, some for the better, some the worse. She had made him more generous and open to others; though also more suspicious and enclosed. She had taught him the virtue of impulsiveness; but also its dangers. So he had ended up with a cautious generosity and careful impulsiveness.

Anger as an expression of authority, an expression of masculinity, anger as a prelude to physical violence: he hated it all.

He sometimes asked himself a question about life. Which are truer, the happy memories, or the unhappy ones? He decided, eventually, that the question was unanswerable.

...your lovemaking has become less a search for consolation than a hopeless attempt to deny your mutual unhappiness.

-love feels like the vast and sudden easing of a lifelong frown.

'You see, I haven't been in love before, so I don't understand about love. What I'm worried about is that, of you love me, it will leave you less for the other people you love.'
I don't name them, I meant her daughters; and perhaps even her husband.
'It's not like that,' she answers at once, as if it is something she too has thought about, and has solved. 'Love's elastic. It's not a question of watering down. '

Nowadays, at the other end of life, I have a rule pf thumb about whether or not two people are having an affair: if you think they might be, then they definitely are. But this was decades ago, and perhaps, back then, the couples you thought might be, mainly weren't.

Everyone has their love story. Everyone. It may have been a fiasco, it may have fizzled out, it may have never even have got going, it may have all in the mind, that doesn't make it any less real. Sometimes, it makes it more real. Sometimes, you see a couple, and they seem bored witless with one another, and you can't imagine them having anything in common, or why they're still living together.

It could have been a different young man, no doubt about it, but it wasn't. The facts of a life become so enigmatic when the life is over.

The feeling that I was being driven out of myself by a claustrophobic, growing mass that made me swell. For a few desperate seconds, I could not breathe. Then I began to cry and fell over along the panel, crouching until it was over.

When did I became a stranger again ? Was I one all along ?

We are different, those of us who were born right after the war. A reminder was sewn with tiny stitches into frontal lobes: Never again poor.

Perhaps eternal life already exists during a human lifetime, but since it looks different from what we're hoping for- something that looks different from what we're hoping for- something that transcends everything that's ever happened- since it looks instead like the old life we already knew, no one recognizes it.