So Long So Long, Marianne, Leonard Cohen had sungwhen I was a thing of the future and still unborn,intuiting the ways of the world from an unhappy womb. My father died when I was six months old.My eyes cannot recall … Continue reading
You Woo Me You speak of a coast that’s so pristine,where the sand is decked with shells and pearls,where the fish that venture into the airare safe from spears and goring hooks. There the trees that hum to the eager … Continue reading
The Italian Kitchen Paulette was the most elegant person I had ever known,a ballet dancer, half-Swiss, half-Italian, with a British home.We walked into a cafe in Glasgow’s trendiest zone,the only friend I had made then during my studentship abroad. It … Continue reading
Percy Shelley’s Heart Don’t quote what scientists had thoughtof the heart that lay unburnedamongst a pyre’s ceremonious coal,a handful of gold,on the Tuscan shore. Don Juan had drowned in an ugly stormwhose wrath had claimed Percy and allon a voyage … Continue reading
Autumnal Water is my element,hence the Summer became a girlhood’s favourite scene,heralding swimming, boats and vanilla ice-cream,but it took English Studies in my late teensto make me enamored with autumnal traits. Grey became imbued with a literary hue,with the Brontës … Continue reading
Blessed I’m blessed with eyes that look inwards,that see the departed and joys to come,that sifts the beauty that’s foiled with smog,that keeps a gallery of lakes and fjords. I’m blessed with ears that vie with shells for capacity to … Continue reading
Exuberance What sort of plumage is my exuberant words,words whose foliage no Autumns could scourge,whose leaves still flutter in speech and versewith eloquence? With what sort of rhythm the word bells resonates, a word that chimes with vespers and faith, … Continue reading
The first two arrows that pierce my orbs through fluttering lashes, too loath to unfold, are cerulean fragments that, unhampered, probe my naked window every cloudless morn. My wavelengths, attuned, respond with a flow of rippling images that W. James … Continue reading
I cross the crowded streets, my mind congested with thoughts, get startled by myriads of complacent looks that are painted on faces like gilded books. The topography of miens remains intact. An imbecile look adheres like a mask, unruffled by … Continue reading
I keep a moonbeam in each afflicted eye, afflicted with neon and modern modes of light. They gloss my pupils with the sheen of pearls and shield their spheres from the evil spark, a celestial armour. In my sleep their … Continue reading