From a West Delhi roof, the moon is high and bright, the heat will be here soon, but the wind is cool tonight. Last night I dreamed of my father, and how my mother said, he cried when he lost…
Comments closedPoems about the dark times.
From a West Delhi roof, the moon is high and bright, the heat will be here soon, but the wind is cool tonight. Last night I dreamed of my father, and how my mother said, he cried when he lost…
Comments closedThese days on the metro, I keep seeing this pair: the old guy with his thick white beard, and his orange-robed friend— the one who’s always smiling. They’re building homes and universities; handing out jobs and free vaccines. I feel…
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