Or, Why a poet can never save the world Like a strange afterthought, the X-ray machine in the dark room … More

Like trees violently shaking in the breeze and being torn apart uncontrollably, we drift away. At the bus stop, the … More

Aunt Sharmila returns from New York at midnight and calls my mother. Over a hour and a half, she forgets … More

My God does not order me to burn people at the stake because our homes, with roofs falling, water gushing … More

My friend’s professor is a thorough gentleman. I have heard he never misses the early morning lecture at half past … More

Angel di Maria is running down the wing, frothing and fuming, like an artistic steam engine on 5000 units of … More