Soniareads

If the hope of giving

Is to love the living,

The giver risks madness

In the act if giving

Now I begin to know at last,

These nights when I sit down to rhyme,

The form and measure of that vast

God we call Poetry, he who stoops

And leaps me through his paper hoops

A little higher every time.

Song of Contrariety

Far away is close at hand,
Close joined is far away,
Love shall come at your command,
Yet will not stay.

At summons of your dream-despair
She might not disobey,
But slid close down beside you there,
And complaisant lay.

Yet now her flesh and blood consent
In the hours of day,
Joy and passion both are spent,
Twining clean away.

Is the person empty air,
Is the spectre clay,
That love, lent substance by despair,
Wanes and leaves you lonely there
On the bridal day?

A book that traumatised a generation of CBSE students but it’s been one of the funniest books I’ve ever read. Packing was a part of our syllabus in school and I absolutely loved the humour of the writer. Jerome K Jerome ‘s book was also responsible for the tourism around Thames river that following year. I hope you will enjoy it.

I directed a mini drama named - Uncle Podger hangs a picture which is also an excerpt from the book

Love has gone and left me

“I would like a simple life

yet all night I am laying

poems away in a long box.”

…

“…But in twenty-five years she'll be silver,

In fifty, gold.

A living doll, everywhere you look.

It can sew, it can cook,

It can talk, talk, talk.

It works, there is nothing wrong with it.

You have a hole, it’s a poultice.

You have an eye, it’s an image.

My boy, it’s your last resort.

Will you marry it, marry it, marry it.”

The Human Seasons by John Keats narrates four seasons of a man. A sonnet about spring, summer, Autumn and Winter of a man found its way in of the letters to his friend Benjamin Bailey. I often wonder how far Keats would have reached if only he had survived tuberculosis and the scathing snobbish criticism of Blackwood paper.

Featuring my cats

It took me a while

Here i am again

Doing what I love the most,

Singing the songs of the other

Reading poetry

Written by another