(Because paragraphfuls of prose just didn’t feel right.)

 

 

He stumbled and he rumbled, 

                          he fumbled and he humbled 

and he did it all drunk as a monk. 

 

He sailed and he failed, 

                         he smiled and he beguiled, 

but above all he worth-our-while’d.

 

O, how he made us genuflect

                        As he broke his guitar’s neck

And took over our cassette deck.

 

How helpless he made us feel

                       As our brains he did steal:

That genius, hid behind a yellow peel.

 

He assaulted us with a flower

                       And furry-legged fe-male power

And made us awestruck Spiders cower.

 

He did reflect and he did tease

                       Brought critics to their knees

(Though, sometimes, it was just a wheeze.)

 

There were whiskey songs and meth songs

                       Songs for rights; more songs for wrongs,

                      (A couple of songs for ding-dongs)

And even as he leaves us the jukebox… prolongs.

 

He taught and he fought

                      And was often overwrought,

But nothing could make him not

                      Stir the pot.

 

And when we hear it all

                     The glory and the downfall:

The messy guts spilled out in plain view

And the songs that spoke, to me and to you.

 

The words look cleverer in the light of sad today

The truth is clearer as we prepare goodbyes to say:

 

That Lou?

                     He flew.

 

 

~

First published Rediff, October 28, 2013