Flashboys by Michael Lewis: Book Review.

Brad Katsuyama, a Banker working for the Royal Bank of Canada, whose job is to buy and sell stocks is the lead character of this non-fiction book on Stock markets written efficiently as a thriller. The story begins on a fine day when Katsuyama discovers that the moment he clicked a buy order, the price of the stock would change. He discovered that the price of the stock flashing on the screen was only apparent and not actually available. Thus begins his probe as he uncovers how high-speed-trading, algorithms, super computers, speed hundreds of miles of fibre-optic cables and Maths geniuses make trades to happen in microseconds (one millionth of a second). How high frequency traders made use of technology to rip off billions of dollars by gaming an SEC Regulation called ‘Reg NMS’ that came into effect in 2007. How dark pools, which are nothing but private stock markets owned by large Wall Street investment banks have emerged. How injustice is committed against a programmer by the U.S. bureaucracy in collision with Goldman Sachs.

Flash boys is yet another jewel of a book from Michael Lewis and is a must read.

In a scale of 10 we give it an 8.5. 

Such Is The Joy

Such is the joy

Like a shade of warmth

In a chilly frozen night
The glowing amber

Cajoles to live

In a drowning sea

Of dark thawing winter

Ever so comforting

As long as it doesn’t die

The snug comfort

Dispelling puerile

Purposelessness of being

Throwing into oblivion

Scattered hue of before or after

In its compelling instant

A deluge of cosy abundance

Inundating in its simmering radiance

Each unanswered quest.

Such is the charm of the virtue she exudes

Such is the elegance of her love. 

                                    ... Ramakant Pande

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The Home Coming

The Home Coming

The unbearable

Sad and painful

Trembling heart

Brimming despair 

Wistful moments

Brought us closer

To the dreaded

Inevitable point

Of steeled separation

 Reluctantly

 To pay our debts

We had to part 

Ever since then

The wait

Oh love

And joy

Incrementally increasing

And warming

With happy impatience

In a fluttering heart

Through drifting time

Collected seconds

Bringing us nearer 

To redemption

To emancipation

To our unification

As we merge

In glowing 

Coalescence

                                  .... Ramakant Pande

Next Poetry

Bog Lanterns by Christianne Balk.

Bog Lanterns

1.

You held sharp branches back for me

and I for you

as we paused, muck-streaked

and hesitant to step into the wetlands.

Sliding on moss-slick rocks,

sinking into cattails' spongy hillocks,

we waded in knee-deep

and there they were,

the beaver ponds, long abandoned,

shimmering— 

lovely, terraced slopes

brimming, impassable.

We hiked from buck brush into pools

knotted with stems and long ropes of cupped leaves

spiked with yellow flowers,

carrion scented, sheathed in spathes.

The bog lanterns were rising.

Fly-kissed they rose, flashing,

pulling the deep night down around us.

2.

I still dream of you, 

mud-rooted man,

who grasped the upswing of a sudden song

and followed the varied thrush

unseen, hovering— 

she led us home

through silver firs

buoyed by the moon's maize light.

                              by Christianne Balk

A Prayer by Sara Teasdale

A Prayer

When I am dying, let me know

That I loved the blowing snow

 Although it stung like whips;

That I loved all lovely things

And I tried to take their stings

 With gay unembittered lips;

That I loved with all my strength,

To my soul's full depth and length,

 Careless if my heart must break,

That I sang as children sing

Fitting tunes to everything,

 Loving life for its own sake.

... by Sara Teasdale

Somewhere or Other by Christina Rossetti

Somewhere or Other

Somewhere or other there must surely be

    The face not seen, the voice not heard,

The heart that not yet—never yet—ah me!

    Made answer to my word.

 

Somewhere or other, may be near or far;

    Past land and sea, clean out of sight;

Beyond the wandering moon, beyond the star

    That tracks her night by night.

 

Somewhere or other, may be far or near;

    With just a wall, a hedge, between;

With just the last leaves of the dying year

    Fallen on a turf grown green.

                  ... by Christina Rossetti