When it comes to clothes, make an allowance for the unexpected. Be sure the spare in the trunk of your station wagon with wood paneling isn’t in need of repair. A simple jean jacket says Hey, if you aren’t trying to smuggle rare Incan coins through this peaceful little town and kidnap the local orphan, I can be one heck of a mellow kinda guy. But no matter how angry a man gets, a smile and a soft stroke on his bicep can work wonders. I learned that male…
Read MoreCategory: بین الاقوامی ادب International Literature
Cinco De Mayo by Luis J.Rodrigues
Cinco de Mayo celebrates a burning people, those whose land is starved of blood, civilizations which are no longer holders of the night. We reconquer with our feet, with our tongues, that dangerous language, saying more of this world than the volumes of textured and controlled words on a page. We are the gentle rage; our hands hold the stream of the earth, the flowers of dead cities, the green of butterfly wings. Cinco de Mayo is about the barefoot, the un-tooled, the warriors of want who took on the…
Read MoreMy Star by Robert Browning
All that I know Of a certain star, Is, it can throw (Like the angled spar) Now a dart of red, Now a dart of blue, Till my friends have said They would fain see, too, My star that dartles the red and the blue! Then it stops like a bird; like a flower, hangs furled: They must solace themselves with the Saturn above it. What matter to me if their star is a world? Mine has opened its soul to me; therefore I love it.
Read MoreA Practical Mom by Amy Uyematsu
can go to Bible study every Sunday and swear she’s still not convinced, but she likes to be around people who are. We have the same conversation every few years—I’ll ask her if she stops to admire the perfect leaves of the Japanese maple she waters in her backyard, or tell her how I can gaze for hours at a desert sky and know this as divine. Nature, she says, doesn’t hold her interest. Not nearly as much as the greens, pinks, and grays of a Diebenkorn abstract, or the…
Read MoreOrpheus by A.F.Moritz
He glanced around to check if the treacherous gods had really given him the reward promised for his accomplished song and there she was, Eurydice restored, perfectly naked and fleshed in her rhyming body again, the upper and lower smiles and eyes, the line of mouth-sternum-navel-cleft, the chime of breasts and hips and of the two knees, the feet, the toes, and that expression of an unimaginable intelligence that yoked all these with a skill she herself had forgotten the learning of: there she was, with him once more just for…
Read Moreخواجہ حافظ شیرازی ۔۔۔ دل سرا پردۂ محبّتِ اُوست
دل سرا پردۂ محبّتِ اُوست دیدہ آئینہ دارِ طلعتِ اوست من کہ سر در نَیاورَم بہ دو کون گردنَم زیرِ بارِ منّتِ اوست تو و طُوبیٰ و ما و قامتِ یار فکرِ ہر کس بقدرِ ہمّتِ اوست دورِ مجنوں گذشت و نوبتِ ماست ہر کسے پنج روزہ نوبتِ اوست من کہ باشَم در آں حرَم کہ صبا پردہ دارِ حریمِ حرمتِ اوست مُلکتِ عاشقی و گنجِ طرب ہر چہ دارَم یُمنِ ہمّتِ اوست من و دل گر فنا شویم چہ باک غرَض اندر میاں سلامتِ اوست بے خیالَش مباد منظرِ…
Read Moreخواجہ حافظ شیرازی
تو و طُوبیٰ و ما و قامتِ یار فکرِ ہر کس بقدرِ ہمّتِ اوست
Read MoreSci-Fi by Tracy K. Smith
There will be no edges, but curves. Clean lines pointing only forward. History, with its hard spine & dog-eared Corners, will be replaced with nuance, Just like the dinosaurs gave way To mounds and mounds of ice. Women will still be women, but The distinction will be empty. Sex, Having outlived every threat, will gratify Only the mind, which is where it will exist. For kicks, we’ll dance for ourselves Before mirrors studded with golden bulbs. The oldest among us will recognize that glow—…
Read MoreA Dialogue of Self and Soul by William Butler Yeats
I My Soul. I summon to the winding ancient stair; Set all your mind upon the steep ascent, Upon the broken, crumbling battlement, Upon the breathless starlit air, Upon the star that marks the hidden pole; Fix every wandering thought upon That quarter where all thought is done: Who can distinguish darkness from the soul? My Self. The consecrated blade upon my knees Is Sato’s ancient blade, still as it was, Still razor-keen, still like a looking-glass Unspotted by the centuries; That flowering, silken, old embroidery, torn From some court-lady’s dress and…
Read MoreCrazy Jane Talks with the Bishop by William Butler Yeats
I met the Bishop on the road And much said he and I. `Those breasts are flat and fallen now Those veins must soon be dry; Live in a heavenly mansion, Not in some foul sty.’ `Fair and foul are near of kin, And fair needs foul,’ I cried. ‘My friends are gone, but that’s a truth Nor grave nor bed denied, Learned in bodily lowliness And in the heart’s pride. `A woman can be proud and stiff When on love intent; But Love has pitched his mansion in The…
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