The hour of my return to the soil of my birth is lost in the shifting dunes of time.
Dry leaves of regret rustle in me, a sick animal’s breath: The bones of resolution lie scattered. regret poem by r parthasarathy
by R. Parthasarathy End of a long day’s simple action, the fan’s ceaseless whirr: My life is a desert of stunted thorns. The hour of my return to the soil
Here is the poem by R. Parthasarathy (from his collection Rough Passage , 1977): 1977): O the mind
O the mind, mind has mountains, cliffs of fall Dreadful, sheer, no-man-fathomed.