• Writer: Anton Chekov, a Russian writer • Characters:1. Iona Potapov, a horse driven cab-driver2. An officer3. Three young men4. A hall-porter5. A young cab-driver6. Iona's horse • A Short Plot summary: Iona Potapov, an old cab-driver has recently lost his young son to death by high fever, and in his extreme grief, he wants... Continue Reading →
The Joys of Motherhood
• Writer: Buchi Emecheta, a Nigerian female writer • Characters:1. Nwakusor, an Ibo man2. Nnu Ego, an Ibo girl, Agbadi's daughter, Nnaife's wife3. A driver of a kia-kia (quick quick) bus4. Some Yoruba men5. Another Ibo woman • A Short Plot Summary: One morning in Lagos, Nwakusor, an Ibo man, while returning from his work... Continue Reading →
The Buddha’s Wife
It can’t have been fun for the Buddha’s wife,Left on her own for the rest of her lifeWhen her good lord fledThe royal bedTo seek for his own perfection. It’s said in praise of Mahatma Gandhi –A sort of saint, though his legs were bandy,He was skinny and quaint – but still, a saint –That... Continue Reading →
The Ballad of a Dead Friend
As we the withered fernsBy the roadway lying,Time, the jester, spurnsAll our prayers and prying —All our tears and sighing,Sorrow, change, and woe —All our where-and-whyingFor friends that come and go. Life awakes and burns,Age and death defying,Till at last it learnsAll but Love is dying;Love's the trade we're plying,God has willed it so;Shrouds are... Continue Reading →
Do Not Say
do not say my people are lazybecause you do not know.you are only a critic, an onlooker.you cannot know or judge,passing the kampong in your car,staring at economic data.do not think my people are weakbecause they are gentle,because they do not build skyscrapers.have you ever worked in a ladang,or danced the ronggeng?can you sing the... Continue Reading →
Ode to Tomatoes
The streetfilled with tomatoes,midday,summer,light is halvedlikeatomato,its juicerunsthrough the streets.In December,unabated,the tomatoinvadesthe kitchen,it enters at lunchtime,takesits easeon countertops,among glasses,butter dishes,blue saltcellars.It shedsits own light,benign majesty.Unfortunately, we mustmurder it:the knifesinksinto living flesh,redvisceraa coolsun,profound,inexhaustible,populates the saladsof Chile,happily, it is wedto the clear onion,and to celebrate the unionwepouroil,essentialchild of the olive,onto its halved hemispheres,pepperaddsits fragrance,salt, its magnetism;it is the... Continue Reading →
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