an ever-green introspection

This was a message to my son ..on 13/08/2012

Five years have gone.. (Now it is thirteen years)

But the message seems to be relevant

"kutta, getting involved with some old fellows in some groups in FB (social media) can be quite frustrating.

Many of them do not know anything about any subject but just show off.

But the arrogance that is part and parcel of grey hair will always be there.

Their refrain will always be that my hairs did not go grey silently..

But in fact, hairs can turn grey and pates can go bald without any content in the inner skull also.

I am a fierce fighter.. and I have the backing of years of toil.

I was happy to see you spirit.

And this mastery over language can stand you in good stead in more useful fields.

Now I am gradually withdrawing from groups...

I am inducted by people in their groups and I have hardly joined any group voluntarily...

Nowadays I put things more in my blog direct or in my status messages.

Those arrogant gray haired critics simply do not exist in my world.

I do not care for their comments, abuses or appreciation.

I saw the Yeats poem “Tread Softly” posted by you day before yesterday.

And yesterday the Vayalar poem.

I could not help commenting on the brilliance of either.

I am in the group to enjoy those treasures only

when you see great treasures in literature, you will just possess them and hide them in some safe niche in the recesses of your brain..

they will be present for ever and can be taken out and enjoyed.

It is just like a collector of artifacts, ornaments or coins just collecting his treasures meticulously and once in a while taking them out fondling them and a cool soothing breeze of contentment flowing into his heart.

No creations of sublimity has happened through thirst for fame of pelf.

.they simply flow out of some strange phenomenon occurring in the whole being of the creator.

13/08/2012 with Karthik

The poem mentioned in the message

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The Cloths of Heaven

Had I the heaven's embroidered cloths,

Enwrought with golden and silver light,

The blue and the dim and the dark cloths

Of night and light and the half-light;

I would spread the cloths under your feet:

But I, being poor, have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet;

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

W. B. Yeats

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