In Memoriam

Today is a rather special anniversary. My great ancestor died thirteen years ago this day. We do not forget him. He always had room in his heart for causes, of which one was the College of Wyverns. He made it a point to donate a classroom or something equivalent to every one of the College's campuses.

A funny thought came to me. He would have been vastly entertained by the god-daughter, and she by him. I can just imagine the two of them. They sound very much alike in some ways. Both of them also share this ability to remind me that I have a conscience. Unfortunately, that kind of meeting can only take place in my mind now.

And you know something else? He would have been a hundred years old this month.

Homesick

Rabindranath Tagore was my late maternal grandfather's favourite poet. Here is one example of why this was so. It's a poem by Tagore called Salutations. I thank She-Who-Binds for the remembrance of it.

In one salutation to thee, my God, let
all my senses spread out and touch
this world at thy feet.

Like a rain-cloud of July hung low
with its burden of unshed showers let
all my mind bend down at thy door in
one salutation to thee.

Let all my songs gather together
their diverse strains into a single
current and flow to a sea of silence in
one salutation to thee.

Like a flock of homesick cranes
flying night and day back to their
mountain nests let all my life take its
voyage to its eternal home in one
salutation to thee.

=====

Ah, bright wings...

Ancestor

I remember my great ancestor in his prime:
He was venerable, patriarchal.
Aunt said he was Caleb of the mountains,
But he was Benjamin at the right hand.
The sunlight sank around him patiently;
He sought humility each day, and she was kind.

Always the mediator he, a traveller
Upon the middle way – not left or right,
A narrow path, his Master's way alone.
We were small but he was fun to talk to;
There was always awe, but that was friendly –
We children thought that God might be a larger him.

From the stand he growled, the prophet preacher teaching;
His fingers on the keys unlocked music;
He asked his wife if he might have ice-cream;
How can we remember everything now?
It is hard to feel him gone around us,
It is hard to feel so mortal in October.

There is a summer forgotten, drowned by autumn;
That year, we learnt the world he made for us
Was just another permitted blessing.
We are older now, we too see our end
In sight. What is this blurring of vision?
Eternity, and a brief story of his time.