Remember Paul? The octopus who predicted the outcome of all matches in which Germany played in the 2010 FIFA World Cup? Well, here’s a poem I wrote back then.
Two little Germans, sitting on the wall,
One named Adolf, one named Paul.
Deep-cleansing Germany was Adolf’s call,
Paul just predicted the fortunes of a ball.
With Adolf, Germany rose to power,
Snuffing out Jews, by the hour.
With Paul, the Germans won every game,
Paul got little snacks and lots of fame.
When Adolf’s dark deeds came to a head,
The world got together and gave him hell.
For Paul, things were going really well,
Till ignoring Germany, he chose Spain instead.
Adolf decided the only decent thing to do,
Was shoot himself, and take a capsule or two.
With the Germans now ready to pluck out his eyeball,
Wonder what will happen to poor, poor Paul?
Leena T Pandey
I have been reading voraciously since the age of five when I first discovered the joys of reading. I would lap up anything in print. Unrolling an emptied newspaper cone with one hand, stuffing roasted peanuts in my mouth with the other, all the while devouring the printed content on the cone with my eyes, was one of my first experiences in hedonistic pleasure.
In fact, sometimes I feel that I am on an adventurous journey through the secret dreamworld of other people's imaginations, interspersed with occasional visits to my own life to attend events like graduation, first job, marriage, and so on.
As a true-blue reader, I think I am uniquely qualified to comment on and critique other people's works of labour. I can tell exactly what puts the average reader to sleep, what sets their pulse racing, and what has them salivating for more.
Write to me at firstname.lastname@example.org.