Hi Friends,

Even as I launch this today ( my 80th Birthday ), I realize that there is yet so much to say and do.

There is just no time to look back, no time to wonder,"Will anyone read these pages?"

With regards,
Hemen Parekh
27 June 2013

Friday, 26 April 1985

The Song of Cuckoo

And suddenly there is spring ,
So you tell me :
But how can I believe ,
When the winter is
And the tall trees
Are still dark
With the shadow of
This recurring death ;

The song of Cuckoo
Is no more real
Then the long lost memories
Of some yesteryears .

And this is our Shangrila ,
So you tell me ;
How too soon to believe ,
When the wind is still warm
Though the journey thru
The desert

Is over .


Friday, 19 April 1985


Tomorrow I will not be around
Nor those who I loved
Or who loves me.

And the world would have changed
There would be more concrete
And less trees ;

I wonder if birds will still chirp
And whether there will be windows
To let the sun light come thru !

Whereas I sympathize with you
My son,
I can only pity your son
( I cannot grieve his fate
  Because I may not live
  Long enough to love him )
Who must carry the 21st century
On his weak shoulders
And falter at every step,
And whose life will be one long hurdle ;

Even you may not be able
To protect him
Against all the ill-winds that will blow.

I can only pray in silence
Not to be re-born in Beirut.