They are silent, attentive
they listen to every sound
and absorb inside them
the loudest note
they keep nothing
except their size
and take in their stride
the harshness of suns
the impatience of tides
the earth is of them, of their dust
and their lucid madness.
Official Website and Blog for Shaleen Rakesh, an indie author based in Dehradun, India. Shaleen is a writer and recursive observer of the shifting Himalayan landscape, whose work interrogates the friction between geologic time and the fragile architecture of human memory. Deeply rooted in the ecological and psychological terrain of the Doon Valley, his prose functions as a diagnostic for the Anthropocene—charting the rain of ash that defines modern loss.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
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खुले नीले आस्मां तले हवा ने अपने पंख खोले और तुम्हारी मुस्कान से चले एक राह निकली है मुझतक तुम्हारे ...
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At night at night you're not here at night at night you're not here any more than day at night you're not here no more do I dre...
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A brick is made of earth and therefore it has no independent existence. It's existence is derived from the earth itself. The brick is th...

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