The Peacock That lumbering train, tarpaulin wings brushing stone chips and dust, that heaving gush to the terrace, keeping vigil over flower pots and threats from the neighbouring desert—always making a song and dance about everything—a block of iridescence against the co-operative’s cream. The spit and crackle of tempering in daal. Heeng laps the morning … Continue reading 2 Poems
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