Dear Father, Whenever I have recollected about you, my heart has burst into an impending longing, my eyes deluged in clueless tears and my face sank in familiar grief. Never ever has your persona visited my memory with joy, maybe this inevitable tragedy befalls every mortal; memories cannot be separated from nostalgiaโa reluctant feeling to…
Ends of February “But, I’ve locked the door,โ mothers shout. “This heat is a slitacross the skin!” They tie their hair up in a bun and talk about womenwho brought them flowers day out and day in. In spring, you and I squat on the terrace and dig away in silence.At our heel sticks the…