I’d scrawl along margins of newsletters Forsaking the comfort of plain white sheets Stacked comfortably past my window, Slinking endlessly in the rolling press Of the Xerox machine. The hot paper rolling in the presses Would evaporate partly like coffee fumes From my ergonomically ill mug – Reminiscent of a dead grave revered By autumn in between. I’d pick the … [Read more...]
Sada Mukhtasar writes for Indian Review.
Then I fixed the two rickety legs (Golden as they were) Of the erstwhile tripod – much as One would do with wooden pegs – Into the sterile soil, moist from the night’s dew, And twirled the dust cap mounted atop the head Of the sunshade of the telescope. Ah, stargazing is much a marvel; To observe and gape jauntily At the night’s larval Journey in a plain discourse … [Read more...]