The rain has held back for days and days,
my God, in my arid heart.
The horizon is fiercely naked--
not the thinnest cover of a soft cloud,
not the vaguest hint of a distant cool shower.
Send thy angry storm, dark with death,
if it is thy wish, and with lashes of lightning
startle the sky from end to end.
But call back, my lord,
call back this pervading silent heat,
still and keen and cruel,
burning the heart with dire despair.
Let the cloud of grace bend low from above
like the tearful look of the mother on the day of
the father’s wrath.

Text by Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941)

I'm back from the SYC & Friends concert, and I am still cheesily in love with the repertoire. The first half was centred around the music of Eastern Europe/the Baltic states, while in the second half we were treated to guest conductor Vytautas Miskinis' Light Mass.

Anyway, next week is going to be CRAZY. And because it doesn't rain but it pours, my phone can no longer be charged. I will attempt to survive the early 21st century without my handphone, just like in the old days.

(I re-read The Importance of Being Earnest again this afternoon and it's always funnier the second time round. Can't wait to do it for Lit next year!)