Remembering autumns when there would be no bloodbaths – Countercurrents
The Sun that like grand artist excited us when we would be still in our bed now stopped to be a painter for us. In wee hours, rising from behind the Zabarwan hillock, it now did not enter our bedroom through the latticed windows, to create those mesmerizing magical floral and geometrical images on the walls daubed with white clay[Read More...]