Annabel Lee

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

-Edgar Alan Poe

Tired of Holding on to Nothing

They started off as
Two inseparable soulmates.
When one whispered in his heart,
The other listened and felt.
When one hurt himself,
The other bore the pain.
When one was lost,
The other was there to find him.

And then...
Between them, came,
A wall of understanding.
As peculiar as it may seem,
Understanding tore them apart.
This huge wall, the other climbed,
To seek and find him,
And return with him.
This huge wall,
Grew smoother and slipperier,
Making it hard for her,
To reach the top.
Many a times she fell,
Many a times she bruised herself,
Many a times, even when things seemed hopeless,
She never gave up.
While climbing this
Slippery, steep Everest,
She saw him.
She saw him busy,
She saw him not care,
She saw him laugh away...
Did he mirth at her foolishness?
Or was he just too happy to care?
She couldn't understand this,
Did he not care anymore?
Was he too stuck to his comfortable side,
Of this huge, formidable wall,
To look out for her?
She called out to him,
She called out for him,
He heard, never listened,
To her share of miseries.
Yet she called again,
He looked but didn't see,
The hardships she faced.
She tried once more,
He turned but didn't notice,
How she gave herself away.

Then arose out of the wall,
Thorns, of all broken promises,
Forgotten verses, abused dreams.
Piercing her straight through her heart,
Leaving it bleeding profusely.

She let go of the footholds,
To fall on the hard ground,
Never to climb the wall again,
Never to fall in love again.
She got up,
Brushed the dust off as before,
But didn't look back the wall anymore.
Instead, she began carving her own path,
On her side of the wall,
To lead her life the way she wanted to,
Where people would conquer mountains for her,
Where others would,
Give up being understood,
To understand her.
Where love had only one definition:
Her happiness.

-Me

Only...

Only one dream,
Only one hope,
Only one desire,
To achieve...
What? The mind knows not.
A cluster of images,
Forming day by day,
Giving substance
To an endless wait.
Filling gaps and holes,
Covering up voids,
Only to someday,
Reveal them.

Only one regret,
Of only one loss,
For only one time,
And then, despair to be fought.
In a pool of tears,
Spreading around,
Flowing boundless,
With unnatural energy.
The effect too harsh,
And unfathomable consequences,
Only to, someday,
Be wiped forever.

Only one thought,
Only one path,
Only one life,
To live...
How? The heart knows not.
The very essence,
Of movement,
However slight,
Yet alive.
Struggling to move,
With emotions restraining,
Only to, someday,
Cease living.

-Me

The Realm of Misunderstandings

Give away,
For in giving,
You receive.
Smile away,
For in smiling,
You glow.
Hope away,
For in hoping,
You believe.

Beat away,
Oh! Sweet heart,
Beat away,
For in beating,
You live...
You live, you energize,
You re-kindle an extinguished spirit,
You urge a forgotten thought.
You calm a pressurized mind,
You soothe a tormented soul.

Whisper away,
Oh! Lush lips,
Whisper away,
For in whispering,
You instill faith, long lost,
You clear the mist of misunderstandings,
You rejoice in expression,
You vent subdued feelings.

Sway away,
Oh! Silky hair,
Sway away,
For in swaying,
You unleash a disguised power,
You let loose the trapped energy,
You reveal a hidden magical essence,
You unravel the realm of misunderstandings.

Go away!
Memories of the good times say,
Go away!
Oh! Mist of misunderstandings,
Let my heart live,
Let my lips whisper,
Let my hair sway.
Let me prosper,
Let me flourish...
In my giving, yet not receiving,
In my smiling, yet not glowing,
In my hoping, yet not believing...

In my waiting, yet not obtaining.

-Me

An Ode to the WOMAN

Finally a woman bends...

Dark times envelope
A little household
With one man, his wife
And their little children.
Harsh words are exchanged
As the children grow up.
The adults find it unbearable
To stand the other's company.
A growl, a stomp
An enraged bang on the
Ancient expensive wooden desk.
Fury at its ultimate;
Anger at its peak.
A brewing storm breaks free now...
Threats, warnings, blackmail.
Backstabbing.
And the children growing up
Amidst the anguish
Amidst the pain
Amidst the anger
Amidst the fury.
There is a house to run,
The children need to grow,
Their health, is all that matters.
Education is necessary, so what?
At least they can read and write!
Utter chaos commotion in the house.
There is perhaps a better life ahead.
Yet, the woman bends.
She gets up and clears the mess created,
Picks up the broken, fallen pieces
Scattered all over the ground.
Makes sure that no glass piece,
Lies about so that
The children hurt themselves,
And yet she misses one...
Sadly, she misses one.
It pinches, it pains;
It reveals itself
Most hideously in the form
Of a deep cut,
Deep enough to reach the soul and scar it,
Give nightmares to the little children,
Mould them into the heartless beings
She always wanted to save them from.

"Whose fault is it, though?" asks someone.
"Of course, the woman's!" replies another.
"Why so?"
"She missed the piece of glass!
She did not perform her duties well!"
The other adult...
The dominant one,
Rejoiced by the orthodox,
Rather, the insignificant fools.
And, as always, the woman bends.
Gives in to the stick-straight pride of men,
That if bent, will break,
Lacking flexibility
Because every bit of it
Lies in the women who bend.

We continue to survive
We continue to stirve
All because, sometime,
Somewhere in the past,
When we were children,
Growing up...
A woman had finally bent,
To become out back bone,
Supporting us through
Think and thin of life,
With us through our
Darkest hours of need,
Not caring if she rested or not,
Just to ensure we were sound.
There is no amount of gratitude,
That may repay what she does for us...
A higher person, might just aim,
At being a better person
Than his present personality.
A lower person, might just write
A poem and forget about it later.
While the others, just watch and read
And pretend to admire and enjoy
The greatness equivalents in person and verses
While passiveness fills
Their hearts to the brim.

As the world continues to revolve,
As the sun continues to shine,
As the wind continues to blow,
As the sea continues its rise and fall,
A woman continues to bend,
For there are morales she needs to mend.
And thus, the woman finally bends.

-Me

Two sides to the same coin

Dusk appears over the landscape
Yet the moon seems hopeful.
Days are bright and cheerful,
But it is the night that seems happy.
A little treasure box,
Its lid inscribed, with verses
With words unspoken
With poems unwritten
With stories unheard.
The sun, trapped.
With only its radiance revealed
Through tiny gaps and holes.
Its heat of utmost agony.
On an ancient string of feelings
Occur some flaws with time.
The thread wears out
Through constant use.
Bonds weaken, energy is lost.
The heart, mind and soul,
Collapse under the pressure
Of the tension created.
The two ends of the lifeline,
Pulled across the length
To be ripped apart.
The anguish and pain exceed limit-
And then comes the night...
With its cool breeze
And calm demeanour,
Releases the tension, the stress, the pressure.
Rejuvenating the heart, mind and soul.
The body might bear the marks
But to serve only as bitter-sweet memories
On achieving the ultimate goal.
It is the day that is lost,
And the night that lives on...
The stars maybe out of reach,
At least, the moon appears clear tonight.
However...
Without the sun, the moon is nothing...
Without the sun, the moon is nothing.

-Me

Figure this out

I need a theme for this pic :|

The Song in my Heart

It had been hard.
Many obstacles faced,
Many boulders rolled,
Many hailstorms hurt.
The journey was a hard one.
My life was a frayed end of a string;
Things took a turn for the worse,
Then you came along...

A little flame on a cotton wick
In a lamp,
Braved the bellowing wind of insecurity.
A torch went aflame,
Igniting with it a long-lost passion,
Feeding a lonely soul with love.

The flow of feelings,
The muddling up of thoughts,
The mixing up of words,
An experience of a life never lived before,
An experience of a life with love in it,
Where the heart is the king,
The ruler till eternity,
The keeper of hushed whispers
Shared in the dead of the night,
The protector of the feelings
Aroused time and again
By the sweet verses recited,
The preserver of the promises
That can never be broken.

All that was harsh and brittle,
All that was rude and untrue,
Have no meaning in my life anymore,
They have no purpose to serve.
With you by my side, my love,
I am sure to conquer the world.

This feeling of heavenly bliss,
So new to my soul;
Makes me shudder at times,
With every gentle touch;
On an unknown part of me
That I never knew existed.
Which I am being shown
By your faith in me,
By your love for me.
The time that would have been
Had circumstances differed,
Would signify a barren land,
With no life or beauty.
Satisfaction and content
Are being shown to me now,
With the knowledge,
That you are around,
My friend, my love...
My Shadow.

-Me

Garfield (for those with a low I.Q.)

Dunno why did I put this...not in my right mind I suppose
Please ignore and continue with your work, I am sure you have more important things to go through :P

Acting out of Impulse

I was sad
I was lonely
It was then when I first met you.
When I needed a shoulder to cry on
You readily provided yours;
I needed a crutch to rest my wounded leg
You happily became one.
How was I to know...
How was I to know
That you walked
On an entirely different path
Although running parallel to mine,
It led to a different destination altogether.
I needed you in the beginning
You provided me with
Everything you had.
Now I want you to be mine
And I sadly realize,
That you can never be mine;
You have and will always belong
To that someone special in your heart.
I remain a mere acquaintance
In this journey you have embarked on.
To you...
I was one of a kind,
And yet unable to touch your heart.
To you...
I have always seemed
Childish, cute, immature.
To you...
I will always remain
The friend you chanced upon once.
But to me...
You have been a guiding light;
A regenerator of my dead spirit.
You have evoked in me the compassion
I had thought was gone forever.
You have shown me happiness,
You filled my life with colours,
Your single touch was warm enough,
To make my heart flutter...

I heave a sad sigh,
As I realize
How wrong it was on my part
To keep to myself, most selfishly,
The most precious friend ever!

-Me

Re-birth

I lie deep beneath the land
Waiting since time immemorial;
Witnessing evolution impose itself,
Segregating the cunning from the innocent,
Deep within a fiery pit
Lying in the brightest form,
Trapped.
I shift, I wrestle; I suffocate.
My countless efforts
Create tremors of destruction
And yet, progress is unbound;
Development is the only way.
Dormancy needn't be ignorance,
Just a way of collecting thoughts,
Another attempt at concentration
And restoration of energy.
No more shifts, no more wrestling,
This coop can bar me no more!
As always, my time will come,
When history will repeat itself,
When development will melt
In the heat of my mirth.
Failure has left no room in me,
Only success can cleanse me now.
Destruction of my ill-wishers,
Reduction of ignorant by-standers,
Redemption of all hopes on me.
I will come alive now,
To make a new beginning,
To claim what is mine
My freedom, my liberty.

-Me

My Black Ink Pen

A dull sky above
A breath of exhilaration
With the wind in my hair
And a heart beating fast...
A friendly exchange of words,
Our first meet.
Dreams soaring high
Uneventful and yet intertwined lives.
Poetic significance furthered,
Rhythmic sequences spread around,
Satisfaction unbound.
An unending journey,
To a destination unknown...
The only insight to my life,
Records of umpteen memories,
Fulfilling only one purpose
Of stringing beads of words
Into sentences of purity;
To write a story of a little body
With a tiny mind,
And a small world,
Revolving around
Scores of strings of deformed phrases.
Unfinished verses, unknown faces,
And yet a sure path.
With the smell of power, of liberty...
The only obstacle, a pause;
A chaos filled mind, and yet,
An orderly summary...
An abridged dream,
Unfulfilled desire of the heart.
Mixed up words,
Sentences don't make sense anymore;
All that remains is
An unspoken story
Of a little body, with a tiny mind
Living in a small world;
With a new sharpness,
And corrections forming history;
Where errors have no role to play.
The only rhythm is
The heart beating fast
At this entwining of destinies
And the wind blowing fast...
Thus lies the power in
My black ink pen.

-Me

____________________________________________________________________
To,
A young brother

All this mystery of a kind can say is...Congratulations!!

From,
A vampire, who lived through what you experience now.
____________________________________________________________________

Too Young, yet, Too Old

We sat in the mud
We played by the stones
We danced in the rain
With happiness nobody owns.

It makes me wonder then
What caused our separation?
Did we drown in our miseries...

And forget the world in desperation?

We are far apart now
Too far away to come close again.
There is no turning back now...
No more dancing in the rain.

It takes a strong effort
To live in what is called the PRESENT
It remains a game of logic though
And for logic alone it is meant.

I preach not
About forgetting the past
For, ever instance is a lesson
Its up to you to make it last.

There are stones in the path
There are gates barring the way
Let's keep the goal in mind throughout
A goal we will achieve someday.

A trial is always a must
To renew broken connections
An attempt is always worth
The watch, the wait, the tension.

Look for no morals here
For you may find none
Listen to your heart beating
For it beats for some.

If we were to know our purpose
Life would not be a path
Experience would not teach
There would be no WRATH.

-Me

Shadow of Doubt

A shadow follows me day and night...
Is it mine?

Defiance

A stack here,
A column there,
Six shelves filled...
And yet the input
Refuses to subside.
An open field, a wide expanse,
A narrow long road,
Never winding,
Never turning.
A mist envelops
Its' never-ending path
And gray skies shadow my head.
Amidst absolute quietness
Amidst an eerie surrounding.
I walk on...
I walk on through that
Narrow stretch of road.
Heaving a backpack,
Filled with maps and directions,
Rules and regulations,
Customs and traditions.
Would it not be a joy
To walk unburdened,
To do what the heart desires,
To accomplish
What the mind needs to achieve?
the oil lamp is extinguished
There is but darkness around,
And silence; never-ending.
The landscape is dark,
The mist is black,
The sky, the deepest blue.
Somewhere, near the horizon,
A speck of light
Flickers to life.
A guide? An outpost?
"Walk on," my heart probes.
"Reach it," my mind orders.
I walk, I try to reach.
The distance though,
Refuses to shorten.
The sight is not lost,
But the journey wouldn't end.
A slight pause;
A short rest not granted.
The mind deviates,
The heart pumps and pounds.
And yet, I remain alone,
On that narrow stretch of road.
I struggle hard,
To reach that source of light,
Only to realize,
The presence of
Wrought-iron chains
Binding me, pulling me back.
Weighing me down,
Clamped around
My ankles, knees and wrists.
It is the road that moves on,
And I remain behind.
Restricted is the movement,
But not entirely stopped.
A short pause,
A sneaked rest,
A sly break from monotony;
In short, a DEFIANCE.
I did not reach that light-source,
Nor have the chains freed me.
But, I have been inspired
By this innocent crime,
O' Guardian'
This little act of defiance,
Has rejuvenated me.

-Me

Description

Two faces, two eyes,
Each with its own perception.
Sparks gleam at
Four distinct positions
Separated, pair from pair,
By naught more
Than a screen
Another unprotected shield.
Caged, trapped, surrounded
By four walls,
Supporting a whole new world.
An array of ideas,
A rainbow of emotions.
A mountain of dedication,
Amidst trees of hope,
Hidden in the mist
Of unruly expectations.
A soul is lost
Somewhere in the sea
Of people,
Belonging to a single flock,
Following the same trends,
Treading the same path.
Lost is a soul
In the sea of unanimity.
Faced by knowledge
Ever unending,
An urge to rise
Above them all,
A spirit suppressed
Under the mount of
Responsibilities and pressure.
An attempt, a try,
Another futile effort
To meet irrational expectations
To prove stability
To prove achievement
Of a height untouched.
A symmetrical block
Bars freedom of soul,
Prevents expression of thought,
Stops the unending process of growth.
A need to unplug
A need to detach
With a hope to shine
With an urge to rise
To create a beat
To create a rhythm
Which suits the mood,
Represents life
Runs through everyone's veins
Yet remains unheard.
Yet remains unchained.
Yet remains uncaged.
Unique and free,
Yet bound by rules
And regulations of tradition,
Of respect and care,
Of family and friends,
All, but a namesake.
A definition would bind again,
A description would define.
I remain a mystery
Lost in the sea of unanimity.

-Me

Taken for Granted

I had a friend
One of a kind,
Special; funny
Independent; unique.
Two unknown souls,
Two different minds.
Two unique idea,
Two rare delights.
Chance collided upon them
Projecting them towards
Cross-roads of life.
Foolish, I was,
To play with destiny.
This childishness of mine,
I regret terribly.
The unknown paths
Remain unknown.
Lost in towering emotions
Of pride and honour.
Swirling into infinity
Not knowing where darkness ends.
If only the path
Could be retraced.
If only friendship
Could not be scarred.
If only friends
Truly remained forever.
This day would not have
Seen me, o' friend,
Taking you for granted.
I am truly in your debt.

-Me

____________________________________________________________________

To,
A king of flirts,
You might have many friends, all of them better than my shameful self. But, I survive on only your friendship. I am sorry for the ill-words spoken, and for the hurt and pain caused. I need but a chance to revive the old friendship again, only if you are willing to give it to me.
Yet again, dear friend, I apologize, for the rudeness of my behavior.
From,
A block-headed vampire
____________________________________________________________________

Silver Lining

*Hint*Hint*!

_____________________________________________________________________

Blue

I flipped through
The pages of my diary,
Reading all the words,
That represent my memories;
Stored in sheets of paper
Vulnerable; vital.
My identity lies here,
My truth written,
My mysteries solved.
My songs mute,
In their own rhythm of ecstasy.
My paintings, blank
In their own landscape of purity.
My lips draw a smile
As I notice an inevitable truth.
I have grown mature,
I have become wiser,
My strength has increased.
Determination defines me,
Ambition runs through my veins.
Life has been hard,
Its true.
The experience though,
Has been kind.
I am a stallion.
I am wild, I am free.
I live like
There lives no tomorrow.
I run like
There runs no sorrow in me.
The world would end
O' blue sky
You will change,
As everyday, as every moment.
But I:
I remain,
I am wild, I am free,
and I prevail.
Over the earth
That shall be washed way;
Over the sun,
That shall be extinguished;
Over these pages,
That shall rot.
My tales, true to every word,
Will live...
My memories, purest of all,
Will flourish...
Fragments and pieces,
I grow into
A bit here, a piece there.
But I remain,
And i remain, everywhere.
For I am wild, and I am free
I am a stallion
I am ME

-Me

____________________________________________________________________
To,
A Mr. "Blue"
Life goes on, leaving a message behind... It says
"Follow me!"

From,
A vampire you may never encounter again.
____________________________________________________________________________

Why STUDY???

The more we study

The more we know

The more we know
The more we forget

The more we forget
The less we know...

So why STUDY???

COURTESY: A T-shirt I bought

A Thing of Beauty

A thing of beauty is a joy forever
Its loveliness increases, it will never
Pass into nothingness; but will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth.
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all.
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old, and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms;
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
All lovely tales that we have heard or read;
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.

- John Keats

Thy Perception

Not blank, nor grey
Yes, there lies a blot
A smudge of ink
On stark-white paper
As does with everybody.
And yet there is a difference;
A variation does exist.
A face, sharp with features,
Best seen in dim radiance,
Transparent with its mysteries...
A mischief brews,
A spark dares to shine
Sheltered in the deep reaches
Of a blackened universe.
Struggling every instant,
To outshine darkness.
Will it succeed?
Mind knows not.
What lies ahead?
Fate tells not.
A few more patches,
Scatter here and there.
Fates makes it tough
Wisdom lends a hand;
Sorrow declares war,
Shrewdness wins it.
Priorities rearrange themselves,
And thus is born,
A Human.

Of verses and lines,
Of phrases and words,
I know nothing.
The perception remains yours.
Think what you might,
For the freedom
Is always yours.

- Me

____________________________________________________________________

To,
An Anonymously Famous puppy,

Though no amount of honour can replace a belly rub,
Here is a little dedication to thine honour

From,
A vampire who strives in your lust for life.
____________________________________________________________________________

Current State of Affairs

I sat by the window,
Staring out at the rain.
Feeling the greyness everywhere,
Outside and within me.
I have been like this,
For quite some time now.
No rays of hope shine,
I have not seen the sun,
For quite some time now.
All dreams came crashing down,
On my encountering REALITY.
A sad state it is indeed,
To have lost,
And to continue losing.
All my attempts,
All my efforts,
To regain the lost me,
To regenerate from the ashes,
Have failed miserably.
I am lost...
I climb to the top
Of a pile of boulders,
And look down upon
The world I prepare to leave behind.
I find clusters
of people.
Some big, some small,
But all distinct
In their own special way.
I look down,
All of them are there,
Enjoying the cool breeze
Of their own unique achievements.
I find them,
And locate them all,
Save one.
The one standing
Right beside me.
With his hand in mine,
And lips
Uttering a promise,
To never let go,
To be there for me,
Whenever I may need him.
Bringing colour back,
To my blank life.
Subtly and slowly,
Touching every nook,
Every corner,
With not rainbow pastels,
But mild hues.
Things have become
So moist,
By the endless tears I shed,
That the colour spreads fast.
Before I can catch up with it
It spreads itself,
Before I can catch up with it
Like fire in some wild forest.
Covering me completely,
Consuming me,
Occupying my soul.
One tiny part remains though,
It detaches itself.
No longer under influence,
It lives on free and independent.
It is adamant about it.
It is stubborn.
It is free.
It is happy.
That grey piece,
That blank grey piece,
Is me.

- Me

Where the mind is without fear

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high Where knowledge is free Where the world has not been broken up into fragments By narrow domestic walls Where words come out from the depth of truth Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit Where the mind is led forward by thee Into ever-widening thought and action Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake -Rabindranath Tagore

Imaginative Creation???

Some craziness we were upto on the way back home from school.
We took a magnifying glass and burnt a hole through the poor piece of diary paper...

The Hindu (Peter Roebuck writes) 24/03/07

Bob Woolmer case: It’s just not cricket

How did it come to this? How did we allow a game to become a murder scene? A respected son has been cold-bloodedly killed in the middle of the game’s most prestigious event. Until these last few days it could hardly be imagined that any game could suffer such a loss. It is only a game.

A bloke armed with a hunk of leather tries to hit three sticks protected by another fellow bearing a lump of wood. How can anyone care so much? How can wrath or vengeance or hatred so erode a man’s better feelings that he kills because a match has been lost? Murders a man was not even playing? Endangers his own life to exact revenge?

At once it is a tragedy and an absurdity. A man steeped in the game has been taken before his work had been completed. A father has been denied his period of reflection. A wife must embark upon her twilight years without her companion. A family has been rent asunder. No one wanted to believe it.

No one thought it possible that the greed, the frenzy, the hysteria, the nationalism had so far escaped the containment of reason as to provoke such destruction. No-one wanted to believe that the madmen were serious.

Alas, the unavoidable revelation of our times is that civilization eludes us. Man’s inhumanity to man continues apace. Savagery stalks the streets of Baghdad and Harare. It is something to take a man’s life yet it happens every day and hardly raises a blink. Manners die in the gutter, their moans unheard.

Remain immune

Sport could not hope to remain immune. At times it has become as squalid as any political dogfight. Cricket has been as reluctant as any other recreation to confront its shadows. Recently a national captain was threatened by senior cricketing officials.

And what unfolded? Tatenda Taibu fled his home, left his country. Meanwhile the culprits retained office, filling their pockets with foreign currency, fattened apologists for the evil that has fed them.

Speculations abound

Inevitably speculation is rife about this latest outrage. Was it a criminal of the streets, a chancer seeking loot? Kingston is full of them but it is unlikely. Easier targets present themselves. Bookies? Woolmer knew a thing or two but was not the type to spill beans.

Moreover bookies prefer to work in the darkness. Murdering someone within a stone’s throw of the world’s media cannot be good for business. The timing of the death cannot be coincidental. Had pride been hurt? Pockets emptied? Passions aroused? Regardless, cricket needs to take a look at itself. Money has become its god. Indian players are at the beck and call of sponsors when they want to be in the nets. Drugs, cheating, gambling fester not far from the surface.

Off the field, frenzy has replaced calm and informed debate. Inevitably supporters lose their heads. Victories and defeats are no longer part and parcel of a fascinating game. Someone is to blame. Someone must pay the penalty.

To concentrate on these excesses is to distort the picture. But cricket does need to find a new sincerity. Woolmer’s untimely passing means the game must stop pretending that is permissible to throw stones, place bets, burn cars, barrack visitors, curse opponents, stare at umpires and pretend that leather-flingers and willow-wielders can be something more than collectors or runs and takers of wickets. It is time to start laughing again. But it might take awhile. A man has to be buried. A game has to emerge from the grave it has dug.

Just something as an introduction...

A "Dream" is not what you see in your sleep.
A "Dream" is the thing which doesn't let you sleep...

- Dr. A.P.J. Abdul Kalam