“Fame is a Bee” (1788) by Emily Dickinson [w/ Audio]

Fame is a bee.
It has a song --
It has a sting --
Ah, too, it has a wing.

DAILY PHOTO: Indian Cityscape

Hive [Haiku]

the wasp hive:
its crescent entrances
see steady to & fro.

“Riverside Daffodils” by Chen Yuyi [w/ Audio]

I still remember drinking on the Bridge of Noon
With bright wits of the day.
The silent moon
On endless river rolled away.
In lacy shadows cast by apricot flowers
We played our flutes till morning hours.

O'er twenty years have passed like dreams;
It is a wonder that I'm still alive.
Carefree, I mount the tower bathed in moonbeams.
So many things passed long
Ago survive
Only in fishermen's midnight song.

Translation: This Song Dynasty poem was translated by Xu Yuanchong in: Xu Yuanchong [translator]. 2021. Deep, Deep the Courtyard. [庭院深深.] Cite Publishing: Kuala Lumpur, p. 212-213

Mixed Messages [Haiku]

harvested fields
sit dry and barren
as trees flower.

Armada [Haiku]

dark gray clouds
glide over like a
daunting armada.

DAILY PHOTO: Kaohsiung Highrises

BOOKS: “Road to Mussoorie” by Ruskin Bond

Roads to MussoorieRoads to Mussoorie by Ruskin Bond
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Publisher’s Site

This is a collection of essays about Bond’s home of many years, Mussoorie, along with — as the title suggests — the areas one comes through traveling to – and hiking out of – Mussoorie. The book ventures from a straight up travelogue into ghost stories, local gossip, autobiography, and municipal history. It enlightens the reader on the White Woman of Mussoorie, on the death of its cinema, and on the town’s historical involvement in colonial licentiousness.

I enjoyed this short book. It’s humorous and offers one a feel of hill station India.

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“Birds of Prey” by Claude McKay [w/ Audio]

Their shadow dims the sunshine of our day,
As they go lumbering across the sky,
Squawking in joy of feeling safe on high,
Beating their heavy wings of owlish gray.
They scare the singing birds of earth away
As, greed-impelled, they circle threateningly,
Watching the toilers with malignant eye,
From their exclusive haven -- birds of prey.
They swoop down for the spoil in certain might,
And fasten in our bleeding flesh their claws.
They beat us to surrender weak with fright,
And tugging and tearing without let or pause,
They flap their hideous wings in grim delight,
And stuff our gory hearts into their maws.