by R. Parthasarathy End of a long day’s simple action, the fan’s ceaseless whirr: My life is a desert of stunted thorns.
The hour of my return to the soil of my birth is lost in the shifting dunes of time. regret poem by r parthasarathy
O the mind, mind has mountains, cliffs of fall Dreadful, sheer, no-man-fathomed. mind has mountains