Then I was not the antagonist in your fiction   Pine needles. The hill breeze. Take me home. It is winter and this has been a while. This silly disorder- nostalgia   On a plateau purple peppered, mountain harebell stare; I remember brushing with my finger on a canvas as catholic as the sky a dreamland underneath the blue, punctuated by flocks of … Continue reading Two Poems by Purabi Bhattacharya