Fun news in short verse. They have found just a hundred cods left in the North Sea. They have searched the deep seas below,. Found a hundred cods left in the North Sea . The count cannot be all that wrong surely. By ten deep sea divers on ten fingers ,you see. They take no chances with their headlines. And rely on own fingers for tens and nines. Tagged humor in news headlines.

Night of the Scorpion A poem By Nissim Ezekiel. I remember the night my mother. Was stung by a scorpion. Of steady rain had driven him. To crawl beneath a sack of rice. He risked the rain again. The peasants came like swarms of flies. And buzzed the name of God a hundred times. To paralyse the Evil One.

The seven poems here are collected from the 17 typed manuscript pages brought to the home of the poet Perla Rezait in 1971, a year before her death. What does one make of it? There is death-like passivity in the entire activity of stringing together the seventeen poems as. To the poet Perla Rozait a year before her death.

Making friends in the park. The other day ,as I entered the park gate for my morning walk I suddenly noticed that I had unconsciously turned left to make the usual rounds in the track . I wondered why I unconsciously chose to walk clockwise in the oval shaped jogging track. I found everybody else did the same thing. I therefore made a conscious decision that I would change my routine for a day and walk counterclockwise. Turn out to be my acquaintances.

Images that capture an experience or a mood or tell a story. Tourists watching the fountains near Burn Khalifa tower. Pilgrims in Tirumala at a sacred mountain stream. Visitors to the Bhojpur temple.

And he looked at his wife, not with a smile now, but with hatred. She glanced at him too, and also with hatred and anger. She knew who would be the first to try and grab her winnings.

Poetry posted as and when it happens. Sounds come from drums and pipes. From silences ,vacated by crickets. Men turning in a sleep, from dreams. The wedding sounds are of joint sleep. Of many liquid nights and tear sounds. From black-lined eyes, red hurt noses. Sounds of two bodies sleeping, rising. Posted in poetry by A. We hear about the boy who stared in the hospital.

Children playing in the sea. Hey,this is not the banana we eat at home! October 14, 2010. The little yellow-black bird which visited our tree. Fishing in the deep waters. Watch the three boys squatting on the river bank with their hands clutching their heads. There is another boy who has just taken a dip in the river and is putting his dress back. The woman is here calling out to her companion from the arched entrance to the temple.

Please wait a few minutes and refresh this page. The lake that was sea. Please wait a few minutes and refresh this page.

Short poems built around a keyword. We are still on the earth anxious for victory. Of avoiding the bumps in our tiny stomachs. And the consequent high tension wires in us. Snapping in their lightning flash, a big bang. We are looking for our paper to fly like them. Who went before and are a dead-weight still. On the earth we are hanging on to the hangar. Counting Siberian bird feet into our swamps. There is not much of a sun about us. Where we and our other come from.