Mourning for a dead tortoise 03/12/2011
The heart knows only one place as home, where the borewell found nothing but cracks that split open blood vessels and put to sleep a tortoise wide awake. The ghosts of its walls still shed stone tears Add Comment | DisclaimerThis is where I will be fanciful, silly, unembarrassed, gushy, mushy, maudlin, giggly, and perhaps rarely, wise. I claim to be neither a poet nor a translator but here you might find me doing both -- writing poetry and translating all that I love. I claim neither to beauty of prose nor to wisdom of thought. I claim neither to originality nor to brilliance. I claim neither to appeal nor to sense. What I do claim to is this space -- endless space, mine and mine alone. To indulge. ArchivesJanuary 2012 |
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