There once was a man named McNameter
Who was blessed with both length and diameter
But it wasn’t his size
That was a surprise
‘Twas his rhythm: iambic pentameter

XIX
I sometimes think that never blows so red
The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled;
That every Hyacinth the Garden wears
Dropt in her Lap from some once lovely Head.

‘The Cyberiad” by Polish author Stanislaw Lem is a brilliant set of short stories. Its translation from Polish to English is an astounding achievement in itself, faithfully preserving the wonder of the original.

Ah, Love! If you and I could with Fate conspire
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,
Would not we shatter it to bits–and then
Re-mould it nearer to the Heart’s Desire!

A few days ago, I came across a trailer for the Third Culture Kids . Instant empathy. Nice to know that there are others out there..as I am never tired of repeating, “The more personal it is, the more universal it is.” Here is a lovely poem from the beginning of the trailer. Does anyone know who the author is? I’d like to buy him/her a beer.

Was in the subway yesterday, listlessly browsing the Internet on my phone, when I came across ‘Blueprint ’, by Manisha Lakhe. I have come across her writings from time to time and often wondered how she writes in a way that resonates so often with my thoughts.

Mirza Ghalib often returns from the grave to tug at my heartstrings. Always at opportune moments. I’ve often discovered specific ghazals which seem to apply in their entirety to the situation I find myself in. Perhaps this is another illustration of the principal, “The more personal it is, the more...

I have stayed away from ghazals for a while now. But a jumble of recent events had me listening to “Ab ke hum bichde” by the unimitable Ahmed Faraaz. The poet knows how to pluck the right strings to trigger a silent sigh that grows into a thunderstorm of pent up sorrow. Here comes the text and a free...

Few things match the “Oh yes, yes! Exactly!” feeling you get when you come across a poem that describes exactly how you are feeling at a given moment. James Kavanaugh did it for me this time.

My sadness has no seasons,
It comes when the leaves
Surrender to the persistent wind
And lie at attention,
When the...