Indian Ameri
Tuesday
The Leaf Blower
As I was walking by the parking alley near my house I saw this big lawn where construction workers were seated having 'the usual donut' and coffee (What's with these guys and donuts). All of a sudden my eyes shifted to this color RED - I've been recently attracted to crimson red. Thanks to the fall colors, Red is just beautifully showcased among the ashy blue sky. Well back to the pic, there was this really really old man wearing a red coat, arched back and was walking slow towards this pile of fallen leaves. With his back at me (nearly a football field away), he waited near the heap and waved his hand at someone on his left. The small blonde kid (don't know if he/she was a he/she) ran towards his grandpa (not sure), caught his hand and jumped into the heap of leaves. The rest is history (not the time to use this sentence, but seriously I had to lose the rest of the story coz I was late for a meeting and the damn truck came on my view).
Though the mind was on the watch, the heart just imagined a story. As I neared the department, I just decided to go on with a poem of my very own imagination. So here's the poem (not of the stereo type, so can call it not even as a poem - which I don't care) I named 'The Leaf Blower' (Saw the lawn janitor blow the leaves. And yes, am trying to organise my blog using links).
The Leaf Blower (Read the poem first and then continue the rest) is a story of an old man, Sam in his seventies asking his friendly neighborhood kid George to clean his lawn of autumn fall leaves. A flow of emotions, flashbacks followed by generousity is showcased in it. But the end note is that even at his seventies, he liked to bring the inner child in him where he (read the poem at least NOW before u read the next few words as they are the spoils) uses all his days saved energy to kick the heap of dried leaves all over his lawn just to see another day spent in childhood memories. He is not mean coz he is generous in paying the children who help him clean his lawn. My favorite part of the poem is the last line where I ask the question, whether old age is fun or not. This is not a question I throw on the readers but to myself, coz I'm still not ready to accept the fact that I am senile :D........
As for other details of my life, it was yet another week of me cursing my reasons of doing a PhD, over coming it with the new blessings I had just coz I took PhD like this poetry stuff which I would have never continued if I'd been at work. Got the groove of reading books again after nearly 8 months, less friends, easy quittings on trips, financially achieving in paying debts (am good in this and wonder y I din't take the CAT exam in the first place), found linesofgrey.org and am working on to improve its cause (Thanks Alan), playing a lot with the cool free rice vocabulary and watching tons of FRIENDS episodes and movies online. Am also bored most of the time and thanks to one weeks of lavish time pass, now I can't work like I used to do before AICHE.
For all those rss blog readers (By the way how many of you guys are out there anyway), thanks for the support you've been giving [commenting on blogs of the comments box :( ] and for you Birthday Boy who loved Hey there Delilah and who comments the most, a small gift for you - Listen to 'Wait for you' by Elliott Yamin.
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