And then…

...some pictures I took (and Instagrammed) during my trip to my village.   Previous, Related Posts: About travelling, and writing of it: Emptying the Cup About photos that are poems: Because I Can Instagram About photos of a poet's house: Ghalib Memorial


Like the creaky wheel of an old cart and a rickety rickshaw rideLike the sooty kettle on a black stoveand the shine in my blind mother's eye.Like the bullock that ploughs the fieldand the well that goes down deepLike the post office at the end of the laneand dried hay that lies on a heapLike... Continue Reading →

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