Wednesday, July 20, 2005

Splendour In the Grass

London is awake and alright. Picking up from the debris of hate. Bruised and bleeding but trudging along nevertheless. Holding steady. Chin up.

On Sunday, I took in breathtaking views from the London Eye. The city unfurled in cacophonic colours. The Thames coursed serenely, a blue ribbon around the city it celebrated. The buildings became smaller, like tiny lego blocks. Each representing a memory, of times gone by. Victorian and Edwardian beauties. The monstrosities from the 60s. And from the distance, Canary Wharf gleaming in the East Side. Immodest glass structures spiraling, as if in competition. Then, there were the patches of emerald gardens. Green lungs puncturing the recesses, like an open dark green manila folder. And what seemed to be toy cars moved languidly on a perfectly lazy Sunday.

As the summer sun encased the capsule, I could really tell that this is one of my favourite cities.

Later, afternoon tea at the Marriot Library lounge overlooking the House of Parliament. The Thames shimmered like a million diamonds. And Big Ben chimed every quarter of the hour without fail. How absolutely grand.

Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower
We will grieve not, but rather find
Strength in what remains behind.


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