The poet inside the farmer who might commit suicide
Words won’t roll into metaphors As they are busy staring at dried taps Words no longer bother to rhyme Because droughts appear without gaps Words struggle to walk straight but tumble It is the heat that makes them stumble Coherence has given way to a mumble Even anger is an inaudible rumble! And yet words...
Gangiri Bhadra was the solution. Review of ‘Shoes of the dead’
‘Death Districts of the DP Government’, he suggested for the headline. There are no doors in Ichalganj, Nazar began his story. Once, that was because no one wanted anything more. Now, it is because no one has anything left. I began reading the book slowly, deliberately because I thought death never likes to be hurried...
