Yes, all your talks are papyrus talks; that is why your breath smells of quaint urns. You’re still trying to sell old gossips that were packed and preserved in those canopic jars.
I have seen you dancing your fingers on the rock faces. And you hold that old text so dear to you. Don’t try to hide your love for it only confuses you and the listener.
Oh, that beautiful Nile song of yours, it shimmers and shines and colours the time into desert gold.
But mystery remains says the hourglass… probably that is why all your talks are papyrus talks.
- The Drifting Montages
- Sharpening the Lens Cavafy Style
- Shubhasya Shighram – A Pocket Sized Mantra
- The Red River Named Kanthapura
- The Matrix, Our Home and The Second Option