Packing up is a nightmare. Never realized what a pack-rat I am. I’ve been hoarding year’s worth of junk in my office.
So far I’ve found enough books to start a library, scented candles and lotions to start a spa and cutlery to start a restaurant.
Among stacks of paper, lost lunch boxes have surfaced and not one but TWO broken keyboards, half-empty bottle of wine, bag of seashells and a badminton racquet. But what puzzles me most is this unexplainable tin of ‘Polos Maluwa’ way past its expiry date.
On a completely unrelated note, a guy in office is wearing a T-shirt in the most adorable shade of banana yellow and I’m tempted to rip it off him.
Clearly the madness is getting to me.
Isn’t it always so sad to rip stuff off the walls? I’m taking only one thing with me. An excerpt of an all time favorite poem. This piece of yellowed paper goes with me everywhere. When I travel, I fold it up and take it in my wallet. It will be the first thing I put up in my new office.
Here it is. A little piece of ‘Hound of Heaven’ by Francis Thompson…
I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;
I fled Him, down the arches of the years;
I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind; and in the mist of tears
I hid from him, and under running laughter.
Up vistaed hopes I sped;
And shot, precipitated,
Adown Titanic glooms of chasmèd fears,
From those strong feet that followed, followed after.
But with unhurrying chase,
And unperturbed pace