I am your melted snowman, dropsfrom a baby’s bath, the first rainof the monsoon, a sacred......

A March wedding was planned. It was decided that she would first marry the Peepal tree......

Behind you the blossoming of clouds in the sky.Kongthong sunset blazes the Whistling Village.An old whistle......

In the sacred forest of Mawphlanga poet walks on fractured stones.Heaps of tired leaves lie in......

Our dying fathers, taken inward,no longer embrace us cheek-to-cheek,but become the tongue within our tongue:gifting us......

Even hell is uncertain when I walk with you Sand under our feet...

I’m visiting your museum north of Copenhagen,not far from where I was brought up myself.And I......

starlit night …on a pavementin tattered clothesa beggar sings Kabiraenlightening the passers-by...

Muhammad oratesto blue does, in paradise—wings of gold birds clang. firebrick horses neigh—feathered girls chortle in......

love’s mendicants become monsoons’ downpour—black horses on a cloudy day—hasten towards the laguna of gelatin skulls,......