Ever seeking

 There are times when one is wrapped in greys and maybes. And then there are those times when pure thought illumines the path to be trod. Whenever I have contemplated desolation for too long, there is but one poem to which I return: hopelessly idealistic and unashamedly epic in proportion in these days when half-sentences and jagged metaphors strew modern 'meaningful' poetry.
 Tennyson's words were sounding in my ears ever since last evening. After a prolonged tête-à-tête with former school buddies, mutton tikka rolls, chanachur et al. College, girls, breakups . . . progressing steadily to the capitals - Life, The Future, Idiotic Buggers, She's et cetera. 

 

"I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
As tho' to breathe were life!"

  Wish that every day before drifting into dreamland everyone could say "I have drunk life to the lees...."
After a life of compromise it never amazes me that a person can still think such thoughts and aspire to such heights. There is a Roark in everyman.