they say that when death comes the soul borne away with the air traps itself in reflective surfaces. is it…
Poem
-
-
it’s back again. out of the blues it has appeared to tear and to wear me into one of its…
-
Inside the sari shop we are sitting. Touching and talking to the vibrant stitchings Of fabrics long -stretched – as…
-
When I approach your doors, Greet me not with finality Nor pressure me to sleep, Have me not chained and…