I'VE ALWAYS WANTED TO LEARN LATIN

(Hoping to do it someday)

One of my earliest memories is going through my grandmother’s learning Latin book. On the first page her name and a poem, written in a very neat handwriting, goes more or less like this: “If this book come to be lost/ No doubt will also be found/ And for better being recognized/ It carries my name and my signature”. The second page shows a beautiful black and white picture of a roman teacher and his students in a roman palace.
Its already yellow pages show the passage of time, old like the language it teaches. They say that Latin is a dead language, that it is for ever gone like the roman culture. They may be wrong. Can a language like Latin truly die?
Latin is the parent of many modern languages, my own included. The roman structure holds my civilization – the roman law, the roman roads, roman bridges – all still very much in use, serving in modern days. Roman literature is also alive and serves us well. It teaches us the ways of the world, the ways of Man.
I’ve always nurtured a passion for Petronius, the roman philosopher who chose to be an outcast in the court of Nero. His values and principals were as firm as roman pillars – they still stand. His work can yet be read and studied but could and might be slowly changed by inaccurate translations. The best way to know a work is by reading the original. The safest way, I should say. And that is why I want to learn Latin. I want to read Mankind like it was, not like it is represented today. And by doing so, I shall encounter myself, the present and the future.
It is by learning what other people did and thought in the past that we learn about ourselves and this way we can better prepare our future. For as incredible and unimaginable as the past may be, it is as real as flesh and blood and must not be forgotten. "CREDANT POSTERI!" – May those who will come believe it was so.

THREE WICKED WITCHES AND THE GIANT CAT

Three wicked witches
Went to the Devil’s acre
In a moonless night,
Beyond the seventh grave,
They lighted up a fire
And danced beneath the stars.
A shrieking tune was heard
While magic wonders done.
A cat was near by,
With stripes and yellow eyes.
Swinging from a tree
It meowed for boiling rats.
The first wicked witch
Showed her tongue
And sprayed her stench.
The second wicked witch
Chocked with a bat
And barked a nervous cough,
Whilst the third wicked witch
Howled and burped her wrath.
But this was not a cat
That one can hold and pet.
It was tall and fat and mean,
Like a pile of broken bones,
And a pig that had too much.
The first wicked witch
Growled and scratched her feet.
The second wicked witch
Snored and looked for tics.
The third wicked witch
Spit and said all this:
“Now there’s a giant cat,
That serve our purpose could
Let’s pluck its eyes at once
And hang them from our ears.
Skin it too, we must,
To dandify ourselves
And cook its blood at last
To make our dinner soup”.
But the Lord of Blackness
Is as whimsical as sly.
The hunk had wished for more
Than mere boiling rats.
Stretching out its spine,
The cat began to smile.
And yawning like a cave,
It opened wide its jaws
And ate a lavish chunk.
The fire went on burning,
The graves were hushed and silent.
Gone were the witches,
For now and for all times.
Under the glittering stars
The cat fell asleep.