Home and Ludwig

I have been away from home for some years. As I traveled away I lost the gods on the wayside. But I have always carried the home within.

One day I came home when on the way. I heard Ludwig sing of his joy. I am sure the tramping gods heard his joy too. I do not see them often anymore. But the thought binds me to them. Ludwig was deaf and he did hear his own song. Not as you and I will hear it. But I know the song was where he came home. He arrived there through aloneness and silence. Perhaps, all of us must do so. But if we cannot it is because we speak too much clamor.

The squirrels run up and down the tree trunks. They are a busy lot. I hope the rains arrive soon. There was a time when I did not like the rains much. Nor did I like the winter. But, then I was at home. I wonder where the squirrels go when the rains arrive. They are vermin. Not too many know this. But it does not matter. They are charming vermin. They are merry animals I am fond of. But where is it that they live?

Many trees are blossoming on the campus. But I do not see the peacocks. The campus is putting on a lot of new concrete. Something is always being raised. Or something is being mended. Sometimes things are also torn down.

Amid many things I wander about. Sometimes I cycle a little too much and my legs ache. All roads on this campus come home to where they started from. I have come to feel that we all come home. Only some of us must wade across aloneness and silence.

Homer and Summer

The summer is sultry and sticky. I am jobless and I am reading Homer. In a blaze of May heat corpses pile at the gates of Ilium. The Greeks slaughter by the day and feast by the night. Achilles broods alone.

Sometimes there is a shower of rain. Clouds flit past the sky, drench the earth. The red earth of this campus is redder for a while. Despite the heat flowers bloom. They do not last long. The trees had shed their leaves not long ago. The raiment of green is cladding them again. Sometimes I spot a ladybug on a leaf. When I see nothing I draw faces. But I always throw them in the waste basket.

The shields and curets of heroes shine. The gods watch from the heavens. Ilium has not fallen yet. The heroes slaughter on.

Sometimes I fight within me. Sometimes I reason to me. Winter, summer, spring follow each other. Life has been like this since it was born. I know that sometimes you must live in nothing. I watch the heroes battling. I know that I am not heroic. Sometimes I am just too afraid.

Strange birds perch on the tree outside my balcony. I do not know where they come from. I do not know if they really are. They talk to each other when they are. But they are quick to fly away. The Trojan battlefield is soaked in blood.

I have no shield and I have no curets. I know no bard will sing of me after I have fought and have become the earth. But often to fight is not a choice. It is a state.

Sometimes it rains and sometimes the sun shines. The earth emits the fragrance of rain. Life lives itself and is beautiful.