Wednesday, March 19, 2014

A Prayer for Flight 370

Somewhere there is a plane. 
A real plane; 
not a blip on a radar, 
or a pinging black box; 
not a fleck on a satellite image, 
or a headline on loop. 
Not a conspiracy theory 
about structural integrity, 
or floating debris, 
or an unsolved mystery. 

Somewhere there is a plane. 
A real plane, 
once filled with real people; 
travelling to meet, to hug, 
to care for, comfort, or congratulate, 
to cry or to laugh with 
other real people, 
whose world has now slipped off its axis; 
people to whom northern arcs 
and southern arcs 
and ACARS mean nothing, 
and every new dawn brings 
hope and sadness, entwined together 
like conjoined twins. 

Somewhere there is a plane. 
A real plane; 
and somewhere a son, a mother, 
a friend or a brother, 
shakes with unspeakable pain. 
For them, 
no sea is too great; no news is too late. 
For them, 
our hearts must break,  
and our tears must mix with theirs, 
and our prayers 
must not cease, but instead 
form a ladder on which their grief can climb 
to a place beyond the stars; 
all the way to heaven’s gates, 
until they reach the ears of the One 
who charts all our paths, 
and orchestrates all our fates. 

Somewhere there is a plane.

Wednesday, March 12, 2014

Not today

One day, it might be the simplest thing 
that will feel like the hardest part; 
You won't have time to finish, 
and so you might be loath to start; 
You’ll dig up your old medals, and hold them to your heart. 
Not today, though. Not today. 

One day, you might be too scared to play 
because you’re so consumed by the score; 
The road may seem impassable, 
so you might dither by the door; 
Your body may win the odd battle, but gravity will win the war. 
Not today, though. Not today. 

One day, memories are all you'll have, 
Random, musty snapshots of the sepia kind; 
Nostalgia might go from a guilty pleasure, 
to a permanent state of mind; 
Your loan application for the future, will come back politely declined. 
Not today, though. Not today.

One day, you might wake up and realise- 
that the end seems impossibly near, 
you might try and sing your loudest, 
but like smoke rings, the words seem to disappear; 
and in that moment you might linger, just you and your fear. 
Not today, though. Not today. 
Not today, though. Not today.

Menstrual Man

So today I came across the inspirational story of India's Arunachalam Muruganantham, aka 'Menstrual Man'. A true modern-day hero. 

Please take a few moments to read the full article here.

Arunachalam also figures in a new book by Rashmi Bansal titled 'Take Me Home' which profiles 20 entrepreneurs from small-town India who have built successful businesses in their own backyards (in a manner of speaking). The section on him, aptly titled 'Mad Men' is most definitely my favourite. 

Not least because Arunachalam, in his own incredibly charming and self-effacing way, says things like this: I have many friends who are buying Boleros and Scorpios, wearing big-big chains and they don't put buttons on their shirts. Is that the purpose of the human being life?