I was in the 7th grade when I had to recite a poem on stage. That was my first solo performance. My deep-rooted stage fear had always prevented me from volunteering for any events, except maybe a play where I could blend in with the crowd. But then, I selected Wordsworth’s Daffodils and stuttered my way through the entire recitation, despite days and hours of preparation. I don’t remember much except for the flush that enveloped my ears, making it feel as if I was reciting from the seabed. Yet, my love affair with poetry continued unabated despite this fiasco.

I cannot travel by train without recalling Stevenson’s From a Railway Carriage, nor can I let a brook pass by without remembering Tennyson’s “Men may come and men may go, but I go on forever.”

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