Saturday, 11 August 2012

A rumble random rant about burning bodies in the backyard.

A rumble random rant about burning bodies in the backyard.

The smell of burnt bodies fill the air. The same smell you get whenever you drive past the Borella Crematorium when a funeral is in process. The mild August evening wind takes this smell of people barbequing in backyards everywhere. For someone like me who loves food, strange to be put off by this smell of burning meat. Unfortunately for me, this smell is from association at my dad’s cremation.
I go back inside closing the back door from the burnt body smell. The TV drones on in the background. BBC News. I look up to verify. The Olympics are soon gone. Tomorrows the closing ceremony. Mo’s attempting a double by winning gold at the 5000 tonight. He runs his last 400 meters in 52 secs. I can’t do that first time around forget about running 4600 meters first.
As the Olympics end, the football season starts to ensure peace amongst the housing estates spread across Great Britain. I look forward to a good season, being a MU fan for decades ensures my expectations are always met. But football will also usher in the cold; the windy cold or the wet cold or the both wet and windy cold. The sky this late evening still bright. Soon though even early afternoon will bleak, very like the bleakness in my mind.
Hat Ricks of goals for England and MU by Rooney even will not help relieve the autumn chill and winter freeze from my heart and mind. My external body, I control through regular exercise. But my mind crumbles. My heart aches.
I drink water and keep visiting the urinal until my urine eventually runs crystal clear. Imaginary toxins flushed away, unimagined blood sugar levels become respectable. I am restless. I wonder. I wonder more and more about all the wickedness in this world. Forget about the bigger ones, alike Syria, I worry about individual acts of madness.
I can’t watch anymore:
Please don’t make me watch you arresting a grandmother and her partner for murdering her 12-year-old grand daughter. Her body found inside their house after seven days.
Please don’t you see what I see when I walk down our high street. Everyday a new shop out of business, the neighbourhood bar steel shuttered, all closed for business. The irony of it all seen at the end of our high street, the TESCO superstore. Even they feel it, less and less customers.
Please don’t you wonder how the great people of Great Britain now queue in hundreds to watch fellow great citizens make racist and promiscuous fools of their selves on live TV.  
The list is too long. The wickedness too big. Spreading like the angry wildfire.
‎"Yaam irukka bhayam eyn? Why fear when I am?" Kārttikeyan
Barack Obama.
Ussain Bolt.
Mohamed Farah.
The three people most in the news now. One in an election to select the leader of the free world. The other two Olympic Champions.
Why did you waste away four years Barack when you could have changed the world?
I am cold old mother please wrap me in blanket and bury me under the old mango tree, the one down Lauries Road. Next to St. Mary’s church.
Finally I will belong somewhere and nourish my mother lanka. I will be peace, for one thing I am sure of, more sure than of the God’s themselves, I am sure of death, when finally you are truly at peace.
It’s twilight now. Cold and windy, rain expected tomorrow.
I am cold old mother. Please take me now. Wrap me in my favourite tiger print blanket, the one that kept me warm in the USA.

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