Hey there reader. I hope you are alive and well and had a great time in the 2-3 months I was away from my blog. No net. No inspiration. No inclination. No time. Except the first one, all my remaining excuses were lame and not admissible. But the first one was enough. :-|. In the 2 months that I wasn't netically ( umm you know, physically, mentally, netically... you get the drift. ) present, many exciting things happened to me. Opeth concert at iitm, college festival, cleaning of my room (:O yes it's true), Ghajini, Dev D songs and boredom ( but obviously ). Also I am going to write a separate blog post for each and every thing that I mentioned above. Yeah, poor you. Then again I may not. But any attempts on killing my net connection, hacking my blog won't be entertained or welcomed. So well to start on a light note, as I mentioned before, I was cleaning my room. And from some random corner in my room, I found English Balbharti, STD VI. So naturally, I flipped through it and rediscovered this awesome poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson. But before that, let me type it to you, that I am not much of a poem person. I like a very few poems and so I haven't tried my hand at poetry writing either. So, here's the poem before you kill me for stalling so much .. But hey, it's my blog!
HOME THEY BROUGHT
Home they brought her warrior dead:
She nor swooned, nor uttered cry:
All her maidens, watching, said,
'She must weep or she will die.'
Then they praised him, soft and low,
Called him worthy to be loved,
Truest friend and noblest foe;
Yet she neither spoke nor moved.
Stole a maiden from her place,
Lightly to the warrior stepped,
Took the face-cloth from the face;
Yet she neither moved nor wept.
Rose a nurse of ninety years,
Set his child upon her knee--
Like summer tempest came her tears--
'Sweet my child, I live for thee.'
- Alfred Lord Tennyson.