Nobody is Reading Poetry Nobody is reading poetry,I reiterate in my bed,my head repelling the pillowwith multiple authorships at stake.This is the age of ridiculeand trendy trivialitiesreadily uploaded on the internet.I sigh and with difficultyclose my reluctant eyelids. Nobody is … Continue reading
The silence of the night,in the wake of many bullet-rent years,is torn by the remonstrance of three stray dogswho find no food in the garbage container,having been emptied by junk-collectorswho would not now hesitate to consumeany available leftovers. In the … Continue reading
Wall Pictures I view the five pictures on the opposite wall.I had chosen aesthetic frames to beautify a very ugly office-roomand to suit their literary worth too.The idea of personal affinities between the inmates of the frameson me suddenly dawn.I … Continue reading
Tête-à-tête What do you make of your first relationship?Extremely pathetic.How would you describe him?A rogue but with a profession and a suitcase.What did you learn from that experience?That some men never grow beyond the teenage stage.Was he handsome?Beauty is in … Continue reading
The Cost of Living in Daydreams My adaptations of Lady Chatterley’s Lover, Villette, and The Waveshave been adopted by three Hollywood directors for the big screen,with Hans Zimmer as the main candidate to write the music themes.My first collection of … Continue reading
With a Word I adorn my mind each morning with a wordas a queen for her coronation is adorned with gold,with associations to combat the foul breath that is spewedfrom establishments,individuals,and the rituals of the modern world. Though sharing three … Continue reading
I once lived in Sydney I once lived in Sydney,the Venice of the very Far East,where boats glide on ancient watersthat mirror a kaleidoscope of things,some yachts, aeroplanes and fairie dwellings,all basking in coves and bays of tranquility. There was … Continue reading
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