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3.5 stars �

There’s a relationship of dilated quality with poetry and its reader. The expansion and contraction fluctuates with the mindset, emotions, etc., of the readers present.

Did I enjoy the luscious, albeit contemporary, translation of Rumi? Yes.
Am I currently in the state of mind where these golden hued poems erupt, intrusive and all consuming fires in my soul? No.
They’re merely embers that are cooling and fading, with the gentle breeze the evening is whispering, putting the melodic poems to bed for the night. Or maybe it’s allowing these ghazals to flutter to a nearby ear/eye, one who will resonate with it in a more intense and earnest way than I had allowed that evening.

Poetry, in its brisk beauty, is endurably dynamic. Return to it tomorrow or in a years� time and your sentiments will not remain the same.


Snippet of a favourite poem in this collection:

“You found me once again,
you thief of hearts. In drunken ecstasy,
you searched the bazaar and found me.

Even through sleepy-lidded, Love-drunk eyes,
you spotted me. I ran to the tavern.
You found me.

Why do I run when no one can escape you?
Why hide when you’ve found me a hundred times?

I thought I could lose you in a crowd of people.
But you find me even in crowds of secrets,
even behind my own masks.�