Champs Elysees

The street that needs no introduction. Charles De Gaule (pronounced Shah de Goul) stares longingly at one end hoping to catch a glimpse of the famous Arc de Triomphe that adorns the other end. The pictures are from early October and the air is so wonderful sans the winter chill. The sky was so clear that day, that when I reached the top of Arc de Triomphe through a long, winding staircase, the city of Paris opened her arms to greet me. The sense of history weighed down upon me - everything around me was hundreds of years old that it made even the Eiffel Tower seem young and sprightly. Originally commissioned by Napolean in his heydays (but alas he never saw it completed), the Arc de Triomphe is now symbolic of all the wars that France has seen. Beneath is the tomb of "The Unknown Soldier" (just like in the Jim Morrison song).

In October the bars and cafes sprawled into the road to bask in the sun. It's hard to find people who speak French on this road as there are hordes of tourists clicking away with their cameras at whatever they can see. The last time I went there was in late October, when Mom and Dad came visiting. Dad was feeling awfully cold so we went into the Grand Palais and saw an exhibition.

The Order

The left right left of peeled faces,
Marching to the fore,
Towards the sweaty shore,
A silent menagerie,
Beneath the livid sea,
Heads and feet emerge for a while,
And subside into a mangled broth.

The circle, circle around the digit,
The cheerful clamor, the fist rigid,
Round and round they go,
A mass of bodies,
Exulting in their nudity,
Stepping upon each wayward mononity,
Shunning the absurdity,
Engulfing a vast multiplicity,
Evening the oddity.

The up down up of unattired limbs,
Untiring, unabashed, indiscriminate revelry,
Gyrating in rhythm to a raucous rhapsody,
Erupting in a communal paroxysm,
Echoing each others emotion,
Churning, churning the ever-life,
To its last sap of youth.