Gone Forever

She misses the days of old
although she weaves her ways
towards her salient dreams
or perhaps, her pallid self.

so now that he has turned into a foe
and who knows as she sways
maybe she’d cease to gleam
and find solace in a darker shelf.

so all is but unclear
that she truly misses the days of old
now that he has turned into a big foe.


Proud Parents

She stood up with an unusual confidence,
wrapped in her typical traditional blouse
she wore a three-quarter trousers, folded at the ends,
similar to how a banker would fold his shirt at his biceps
With a Spanish gray shoe, she was good to go
To stand before the altar,
opposite the seated congregation
to read the day’s gospel
Her presence announced virtue and intelligence
And her tone, that of seasoned globetrotter,
someone who’s schooled and lived in many parts of the globe
I bet she might know all the various flags in the world
Her accent was reasonably difficult to trace but at last, it sounded Canadian
I guess she barely knows or ever visits her home country India
Her parents, obvious expats stare with great relish
beside them, is a young cool headed chap,
I could tell that he is their son, the reader’s brother
I got an inkling that they might be originally from Uttar Pradesh,
a state located in the Northern part of their country,
Lucknow is its capital, that isn’t a coincidence either
You probably haven’t heard of it but I guess you know about the Taj Mahal
Their complexion isn’t the usual ones seen in blockbuster Bollywood movies
Let me put it this way, it looked more sun-tanned or perhaps much darker
From afar, you’d assume that they are Africans or of African descents
Just like the couple seated in front of them
Well, they may be from Nepal, who knows
She continued her reading
as I looked straight in her eyes,
not with the stare of a man known to be lustful
If an uninterrupted gaze could kill,
then I guess I would have
I could hear every sound of every word more clearly
than I ever did in my phonetics class
She paused where necessary and skipped no line
She’d be a great news broadcaster I’d thought
but deep down, I knew she’d be pursuing something
related to the sciences, at UCL perhaps or even at Yale, why not
No place is ever too far for an Indian expat
let alone if it’s in the interest of his child
But all that I’m certain about is that her parents are proud of her
and that she has the entire world at her humble feet
So keep going, you young Indian lady !

Kruispunt (Dutch)

Laat ons niet vergaan
de dromen die er bestaan
in onze gedachten
vol superkrachten
want geen opdracht
is nu volbracht

en nu aan dit kruispunt
nee ‘t is maar een leerpunt
voor het wordt een spelpunt
tussen die nachten
die we verwachten

Hij hoort wel een geluid
misschien van die jongen die zich afsluit
ergens onder de brandende zon affluit
onlangs gaan we vooruit
met onze hoop als een ruit

maar laat ons niet rijmen
om dit gedicht te eindigen
dat kan onze regel beschadigen
want dit is maar een verkondiging
dat wij uw gedachten goed gaan behartigen

© Prince Kenny


All the long lost words have been found,
on the rocks scattered along the Mont Blanc
which abutts the towns of Courmayeur,
Saint-Gervais-les-Bains and Chamonix
On its cradle lies metonym of passion,
tenderness and glee

And from its peak shall these words take flight,
in head-over-heels fashion
to deprecate any pledge to ossify
the extolling, deemed aright

Cos my thoughts have been on long a journey
And now that these long lost words have been found
They will always be the sceptre of fondness
that had to be revealed ages ago
cos ‘No, sorry, I, love, you.’


cold, in the mist, no movements
within, beside, infront
maybe only above
not certain,
roads, unused
nor is a bicycle lane, untouched

across street-signals
meeting hedges
greeting hallows within,
along tram-lines,
left when right,
and right when left

in the fog, no movements
within, beside, infront
maybe only above
not certain,
roads, unused
nor is a bicycle lane, untouched
in the covered distances


‘Encouraging and stupendous’ – These are the exact words I called out after reading this twenty-one chapter book by Teju Cole. After reading the fleeting reviews on the front cover of the book, I became very much susceptible to completing the book within a forseeable time. ‘Open City’ being his debut novel gave me a certain vertiginous feel to see what a debut novel basically entails. In no order of importance or lucidity, below are my summarised notions of the aforementioned novel by Teju Cole.

The subject matter of the novel is one that time and time again has been told but the manner in which Teju Cole interweaves the adventures of Julius, the persona of the story is indeed worthy of commendation. The decisive appendages with which the story is told add a subliming and meritorious flair to the story in its entirety. As a reader, who seems to have no ears for classical music, the book passes out dignifying information on this sort of music. At least I now know that Gustav Mahler’s name can never be overlooked when dissecting the forebearers of classical music.

The writer also brings into light a detailed aspect of photography which further deepens the rubric through which the various fragments of the story is told, marking out each detail with perfection. His enviable knowledge of colour takes the reader through a verified chronology of thought, making the reader play a formidabble role in the story, perhaps shadowing the footsteps of the persona or consequently rendering Julius, the persona to others as the gem of his trade.

The manner in which the writer highlights his daily interactions with his patients during his residency is one aspect of the story which is highly revealing amidst the rattling of the trains in New York, the brightness of the neon lights in and around Wall Street and his once-in-a-while meetings with his friend Moji or his girlfriend Nadège. The sublimity of his day-to-day administrations is a spectacle to behold while the camaraderie between him and the old professor, who later dies, gives a lingering stain on the reader’s mind.

The story spans through three continents, making it appealing and very much informative. He touches on delicate subjects that are mostly discussed at home, that is, within the auspices of a selected few. Julius’ transition from Nigeria to the United States mimicks a turning point to his adventures and the life before him. Sooner than later, he feels integrated in the fibre of his new surroundings but winter is something that he always overestimate. The writer does well by bringing in once-in-a-while the preconceptions in Nigeria with regard to military school while his brief visits to Brussels add a little bit of spark.

I would say that the diction used by the writer is professional and very educative and the reader is more likely to agree more than often to the actions of the persona. In an instance, Dr. Maillotte, the woman Julius meets in the plane from New York to Brussels reiterates that ‘If you are too loyal to your own suffering, you forget that others suffer, too’ and that is something I tend to strongly differ. On the basis of the story being fictitious, I therefore pay no significance to that particular metre.

The book is very striking and utterly impressive.

© Photo – englishlibrary-vevey.