The moon did not become the sun. It just fell on the desert in great sheets, reams of silver handmade by you. The night is your cottage industry now, the day is your brisk emporium. The world is full of paper. Write to me. — Agha Shahid Ali, “Stationery,” The Veiled Suite: The Collected Poems.(… Continue reading Agha Shahid Ali
I would not sing you to sleep. I would press my lips to your ear and hope the terror in my heart stirs you. — Reetika Vazirani, “Lullaby,” World Hotel (Copper Canyon Press, 2002)
I want from love only the beginning. — Agha Shahid Ali, from “I want from love only the beginning,” Rooms Are Never Finished: Poems (W. W. Norton & Co., 2002)
Still, there are times I am bewildered by each mile I have traveled, each meal I have eaten, each person I have known, each room in which I have slept. As ordinary as it all appears, there are times when it is beyond my imagination. — Jhumpa Lahiri, Interpreter of Maladies. (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt; First… Continue reading Jhumpa Lahiri
I would not sing you to sleep. I would press my lips to your ear and hope the terror in my heart stirs you. —Reetika Vazirani, from “Lullaby,” World Hotel (Copper Canyon Press, 2002)
