I am Not Here Much

I am not here much, these days
I am going through an interesting phase

Mr. Marquez takes me with him to Colombia
To meet Jose Arcadio, among men a wondrous man
And witness the phantasmagorical lives
Of the amazing Buendia clan

“And so it was,” intones Mr. Vonnegut
And the birds all sing “Poo Tee Tweet”
I stroll with Messrs. Naipaul and Hat
We greet the residents of Miguel Street

A visit to Market Blandings, Shropshire
With Lord Emsworth and his pet peeves
Is followed by a food fight at the Drones
With Bertie and his savior, Jeeves

A lesson from Mr. Kundera
On how disaster can result from a fling
With Tomas, Tereza, Sabina and Franz
I feel the lightness of my own being

In Algeria with young Albert Camus
With his sad, depressed, mute mother
A journey that’s laced with the loneliness
Of the Outsider, the Stranger, the Other

Mr. Rushdie and his city of sorrow
Are my destination some afternoons
They always end with a refreshing dip
In the sea of stories, with young Haroun

Mr. Saramago’s world is a scary place
With its nameless people and states
Their unknown fears they bravely face
And brace for their inevitable fates

I follow the journey of Michael K
As he pushes his mother in a cart
How Mr. Coetzee’s laconic prose
Can rend the reader’s heart

You might say that I am lost
That with reality I’ve parted ways
With all these worlds to make my own
I am not here much, these days

One thought on “I am Not Here Much

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