A space for verse, reflection and lingering.
What Kind of Times Are These
By Adrienne Rich
There's a place between two stands of trees where the grass grows uphill
and the old revolutionary road breaks off into shadows
near a meeting-house abandoned by the persecuted
who disappeared into those shadows.
I've walked there picking mushrooms at the edge of dread, but don't be fooled
this isn't a Russian poem, this is not somewhere else but here,
our country moving closer to its own truth and dread,
its own ways of making people disappear.
I won't tell you where the place is, the dark mesh of the woods
meeting the unmarked strip of light—
ghost-ridden crossroads, leafmold paradise:
I know already who wants to buy it, sell it, make it disappear.
And I won't tell you where it is, so why do I tell you
anything? Because you still listen, because in times like these
to have you listen at all, it's necessary
to talk about trees.
Note from contributor: Adrienne Rich, a prominent American poet and essayist, was a leading public intellectual who accepted the National Book Award alongside Audre Lorde and Alice Walker. Rich’s work explored identity, sexuality, and politics. A radical feminist and social justice advocate, she challenged societal norms and championed women’s voices through her powerful and influential writing.
Untitled
By Emily Dickinson
Few get enough,—enough is one;
To that ethereal throng
Have not each one of us the right
To stealthily belong?
Note from contributor: Emily Dickinson, a groundbreaking American poet, challenged literary norms through elliptical language and unique use of form while capturing the complexities of the human experience. She engaged with themes of death, immortality, and the power of the human spirit. Though she published very few poems during her lifetime, Dickinson left behind a rich legacy of nearly 1,800 poems, cementing her place as one of the most important figures in American literature.
Graveyard Song
By Cao Cao
Lice and fleas infest the long-worn armor;
Tens of thousands of civilians perished.
Bones lie bare in the fields,
Not a rooster crow heard within a thousand li.
Out of a hundred, lives one;
The very thought of it breaks my heart.
Note from contributor: Cao Cao (曹操) was a figure of profound contradictions – both a ruthless warlord and an accomplished poet. As a military strategist, he was instrumental in the fall of the Han dynasty, a period marked by corruption, poverty, and profound human suffering. His poetry, however, reveals a reflective, almost haunting side that stands in stark contrast to his reputation for cruelty and cunning. In “Graveyard Song,” the lament for the lives lost and the desolation of the land offers a rare glimpse of empathy from a man so often remembered for ambition and brutality. It is this duality – his ability to wield both the sword and the pen – that ensures his legacy remains as complex and divisive as the era he helped shape.
November
By Josh White (MBA ’26)
As autumn turns to winter,
Oak, sycamore, and maidenhair all begin to splinter
Red, orange, yellow abound –
The migrated Warbler no longer utters a sound.
Brisk breeze bites at limbs,
Whistling about like a chorus of hymns.
Natural selection picks and chooses
Which sapling wins, and which loses;
Which refutes the crisp air’s sting,
And which lies fruitless ‘til the spring.
I Thought I Knew English
By Mudit Sharma (HGSE ’25)
I thought I knew English, it felt so true, Words danced on my tongue, in a rhythm I knew. But then I met her, with a smile so bright, And my world turned silent, like stars in the night.
I saw her hair, like rivers that flow, But how to praise it, I didn’t quite know. In Hindi, the words would have sparkled like gold, Yet in English, my thoughts stayed awkward and cold.
I gazed at her beauty, so pure, so divine, But the words in my heart refused to align. The language I carried felt heavy and strange, For love needs a voice that words can't exchange.
She laughed, unaware of the war in my mind, Her eyes, like oceans, so gentle, so kind. And there I stood, with a heart open wide, But no perfect phrase to make her my guide.
Thank heavens, she sees what my words cannot, Through gestures and looks, she untangles my knots. Her kindness, her warmth, her love in return, Proves language is nothing where hearts truly burn.
Note from the poet: I wrote this poem for those who think they know a language, only to discover its limits when love speaks a different dialect. It’s about a boy who thought his English was strong, until he fell in love and realized it lacked the warmth, the depth, the emotion he needed to truly express his heart.
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If you would like to feature your verse in The Pause, please write to ubose@mba2026.hbs.edu.
Unnati Bose (MBA ’26) is originally from India but has called many places home. She graduated from Shri Ram College of Commerce with a degree in Economics. She has worked in social impact consulting, global health, and pharma. In her free time, she can be found asking questions of love, community, and popular culture on her substack, Uno’s Thought Scramble.
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