He could not pause too long

Along a back road He set off from the village when the blossoms dropped their petal tears and the green buds bid to escape from the branches. While walking along a back road, he was stopped First by an old woman who bent over a stick. The stick gave way on the path. The old

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Its last pulse was the echo of an interior draught. Some time ago the sluggish monopod had taken its leave. Beached on the concrete path the brown shell has no way of putting itself at safety. The unseeing crunch the barren passageways underfoot. — The above poem is about an abandoned snail shell like the

The Faint Smell of Jasmine

A short story from some time ago: It is a long climb up the stony mountain, through biting mists and pounding midday sun. From the crevices mountain flowers cheer the weary and tumbling water droplets happily refresh those travellers who whisper of their thirst. The higher the climb, the more the climber’s bones and muscles