My father was a god, though he looked like any other old man. He had a thick white beard, and a bald head with tufts of hair above his ears. He had no wrinkles. His ribs showed. His gait was slow, shuffling.

It is so bitter that I have begun to ignore the darkness. The metaphor which has played the role of almost an eternity for my mortality. I cannot even see, rather sense, darkness anymore. It is just my breathing which has kept me bothering about gazillion useless yet valuable issues. I have shared this plenty of times before, not with you, not with anyone else but, with him that I don’t want to breathe anymore.

International Writing Program at University of Iowa

The down-home Iowa people I knew always thought proudly of Paul Engle and loved and considered him as the friendly, local farm boy from Cedar Rapids who had made good and had become a kind of legend in his own day, though not just anyone from there could say exactly what he had done other than become an outstanding and beloved American poet and true patriot.

In the dark political times I found the work and existence of the International Writing Program a speaking metaphor of resistance. While the US pulled itself out of UNESCO, IWP was celebrating international voices, poetry, music, film, art and literature. The idea of paying respect to the world literature is fascinating in itself but it becomes more meaningful when it has certain associations, connections and memories to offer. Hence, in my mind, whenever I try to relive my experience in Iowa as Fall Resident, I have bulk of memories to relish and share.

I’m youngest son, a poor man; nobody marries a poor man. But then, one Saturday I am fainting on the roadside and waking to see the fat lady’s servant Melli-ann holding a yellow umbrella over my head…

Remember that they met on a dance floor at the Sheraton, and how different they were, who could imagine that they would take the high road together for any length of time. It was by chance—like most of the significant events in our lives…

Today everybody can play the guitar, everybody can buy a gun.
We expect a better future from ourselves.
When I don't have a friend, I make a friend of attachment.
I turn my eyes to heaven and see a flock of vultures flying eastward.