Typical, your weather smitten by love now the wind rushes untimely, ungainly, you were a near disaster the day the quake shook you, me, your culverts, your innards, the wind is stoic, promises change in a pedestrian’s cleft. Leave me alone in these hills, knowing only that the earthquake may or may not arrive in …
Poem for These Hills | Ananya S. Guha Read More »
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