Committed to PEOPLE'S RIGHT TO KNOW Vol. 5 Num 866 Sat. November 04, 2006       Literature Romance Nuzhat Amin Mannan For birthday got a hand bag, brand: fossil for anniversary it was a bottle of hot chilli paste What a pretty moon, I say He asks where? Who'd blame me if I was now a spoil sport yearning romance. I hung around sulking for old fashioned declarations a handwritten avowal, a full-blown rose fragrant on my desk... something hidden, somewhere discreet less spicy, almost stark but more fond for sure ...priceless! Men do not write any more, I gather what a waste of time it would be to serenade when a dinner for two peppered by his cell phone chimes is all that it takes! I would have not minded at all if he would have counted the many ways he loved me or if he lied all winter swore his love was infinite, to declare in spring his love for me had grown again some more.* But men are done being like John Donne: they are our equals now neither worship the ground we walk on nor ask us to for God's sake hold our tongues. Equal now, like blessed sweeteners in the place of sweethearts! * adapted from John Donne's poem 'Love's Growth'. Nuzhat A Mannan teaches English at Dhaka University. artwork by amina