Journal of South Asian Literature. v 11, V. 11 ( 1976) p. 61.

Graphics file for this page


The hills are always far awayo He knows the broken roads, and moves In circles tracked within his head. Before he wakes and has his say, The river which he claims he loves Is dry, and all the winds lie dead.

At dawn he never sees the skies Which, silently, are born againc Nor feels the shadows of the night Recline their fingers on his eyes. He welcomes neither sun nor rain. His landscape has no deapth or height.

The city like a passion burns,

He dreams of morning walks, alone,

And floating on a wave of sand.

But still his mind its traffic turns

Away from beach and tree and stone

To kindred clamour close at hando

*From The Unfinished Man (Calcutta: Writers Workshop, 1960). Reprinted by permission of the author and the publishers.,

Back to Mahfil/Journal of South Asian Literature | Back to the DSAL Page

This page was last generated on Monday 18 February 2013 at 12:41 by
The URL of this page is: