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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=523686" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Best of the Night to you, too, Bala...</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">So you took the covert road of the night<br>   and stalked me<br>while I listened to Vivaldi up to midnight<br>At two when you were ready to go<br>you woke me stunned stark in your memory<br>your impishly entrancing laughter<br>your dark bright pupils beaming through the slits of your tightly drawn <br>      lids<br>your ivory teeth basking in uncontrollable mirth<br>your blacker than black ear-antennae and higher than high civil-<br>     servant brows<br>marking your dark-diamond worth<br>your patience<br>your more than necessary feeling for the less than fortunate friends <br>  and relatives<br>stretched cummerbund tight round your caring nature</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How you knew how to share your luck<br>Always a little put out for your beneficiaries' putout-ness<br>Worrying speechless night after night lest your luck run out<br>     teeth in protesting grind<br>against the risks of your calculated outstepping</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Paths led up straight<br>for one whose smiles funnelled from the heart<br>lit in ever-foraging circles of fire</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There was no obstacle to the summit<br>   for you took with grace<br>only what you knew how to spare<br>    with care</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Do you remember your run-up to the crease<br>your Lindwall-delivery dragging the clasping flannel round hobbled <br>       boots<br>your anger<br>at the wicket that went on a no-ball</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Do you remember your opening bat<br>that snicked the runs to leg and off<br>which dozing umpires signalled as byes from pads</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Do you remember Brigitte<br> her perky bobtail<br> her boucles of prancing hair<br>lances on her forehead<br>sickles on her verti-vir-ginous temples</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where are the bridges you have crossed<br> and those you had planned<br> and those you saw grow pebble by pylon and cementing stone<br>where the roads you laid<br>up virgin forest and limestone</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where indeed the buildings you repaired<br> erected<br> re-erected and razed<br>and the thousands and thousands of miles<br>you rode the wild seladang of the primeval jungle<br>     hand on hump<br>with no stars in the paly night to guide you<br>through venomous blukar<br>and the boiling green torture<br>seared deep into your burning entrails<br>  these that now have run out on you</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Watch now how the river glues under your fuming stare<br>when the monsoon torrents sweep the knock-knee-ed pylons to a side<br>those dry as split-bark legs of yours<br>itching once too often in comforting company<br>  though a little spindly for a Pied Piper</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet you made the puppety Peninsula run<br>down drains and monsoon pipes<br>   to a purge-full sea</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Who is there now who wouldn't wake to your fits of irrupting gurgly <br>  merriment<br>to ease the tension<br>amongst unlikely fellows<br>who who wouldn't miss your seething whiteheat glee<br>   at his side</div><div style="margin:10px 0">You who knew how to accompany Kay and Richard<br>up to the closed door of your last night<br>   a very good night on your lips</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Your opening bat's duty done<br>the side shored-up in safekeeping<br>the last fast breathless ball you faced<br>   nicking the bails off</div><div style="margin:10px 0">You needn't return to the pavilion<br>  for the standing ovation goes on<br>for you Bala<br> long after the cloddy-stumps lie slain on the tiled floor</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dedicated to E. Balasubramaniam<br>  (June 13,1935 - August 7,1993) </div><div style="margin:10px 0">(©: T. Wignesan, August 8,1993 - Paris; from the collection: back to background material,1993]</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=T.+Wignesan">T. Wignesan</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=523686" data-title="The Best of the Night to you, too, Bala... de T. Wignesan" data-description="So you took the covert road of the night
   and stalked me
while I listened to Vivaldi up to midnight
At two when you were ready to go
you woke me stunned stark in your memory
your impishly entrancing laughter
your dark bright pupils beaming throu..."></div>
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