Excerpt from "To his Coy Mistress" by Andrew Marvell

As we grow older, we start asking the same questions. What have I done? What should I do? My past was the best.

And other thoughts, about the slow realisation that life is not something which extends forward to infinity. It's a fixed time period! The scary thought is, all of a sudden you think, where am I on this time scale? You get to realise that you've already spent a number of years alive! Somehow, when you're young you really don't put to much thought into all this!!

Anyway, came across a nice poem, which was uplifting. It says that time would be better spent if instead of looking back we looked forward. The poem is by Andrew Marvell and this part is just a small bit, but which for me, gives me more points to ponder!


But at my back I always hear
Time's winged chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.



And then I came across Oscal Wilde. Trust him to put in the last word with his irrepressible wit!

"The tragedy of old age is not that one is old, but that one is young."

A Question by Robert Frost

And finally, he asked me a question...

A voice said, Look me in the stars
And tell me truly, men of earth,
If all the soul-and-body scars
Were not too much to pay for birth.


I think that question kind of laid everything to rest! I said bye to Frosty and the bookshop.

I had some living to do. Suddenly I realise that thinking also happens in time, and thinking about life too much makes me miss living it!!! So let me go live some, then I'll think about it some more...

The Freedom of the Moon by Robert Frost

And then he showed me that the moon was not out there, it's in here...

I've tried the new moon tilted in the air
Above a hazy tree-and-farmhouse cluster
As you might try a jewel in your hair.
I've tried it fine with little breadth of luster,
Alone, or in one ornament combining
With one first-water start almost shining.

I put it shining anywhere I please.
By walking slowly on some evening later,
I've pulled it from a crate of crooked trees,
And brought it over glossy water, greater,
And dropped it in, and seen the image wallow,
The color run, all sorts of wonder follow.

Fire and Ice by Robert Frost

It's been ages since they changed the poems on the subway. Every day I get on hoping that I'll read something new. But nothing.

Today, meandering around New York, a book shop invited me in. And then Robert Frost decided to show me a book of his poems.

So, here's one I hadn't read in a long, long time.

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To know that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.