Funeral Blues

I'm back...after having enough rest. Actually after my trip to Kota Bahru, I got a fever, luckily not Typhoid Fever. Its an outbreak in Kelantan at the moment. From KL to KLIA, we took ERL which is much better. The non-stop journey from KL Sentral to KLIA only took 28 minutes, faster and no worries about traffic jam. While in ERL, I saw a very nice poem on the board written by W. H. Auden, the American Poet, borned in York England. He was a Chancellor of The Academy of American Poets from 1954 to 1973, and divided most of the second half of his life between residences in New York City and Austria. He died in Vienna in 1973.

Funeral Blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever; I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood,
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

W. H. Auden, April 1936