The seven poems here are collected from the 17 typed manuscript pages brought to the home of the poet Perla Rezait in 1971, a year before her death. What does one make of it? There is death-like passivity in the entire activity of stringing together the seventeen poems as. To the poet Perla Rozait a year before her death.

His teeth are a Himalayan pass. Letting in a central Asian wind. He smiles down at a cognition. Of senior to second in the run. I have learned from him by now. How to act my creeping years,. How to pretend not to observe. The wind from the nether pass. Tagged wind in the pass. See the moon hung on a branch of tree. It is sad moon-face,a pie-face in cloud. It used to jump each time a wave came. You are reading in years, with big holes.

The earth shook three times and it took a whole minute to realise I was not in Gangtok of the Himalayas but right on the pillow. Behind eyes, that is. The eye shook in disbelief. It was a vast plain and we were not in a building. Then why were we exhorting everyone to lie down? We should have run outside. The cunning fox comes slyly and my poem is made for the new day. We were hardly free to fill it the way we would. But the world is fi.

Poems with Indian motifs, Indian cultural expressions. Light grew less in his eyes and other poems. Light grew less in his eyes and other poems. We try to picture great grandmother. We did not know who our g. But would dream her in holy thread. On shirtless chest, a lump in throat.

Notes towards making of photo-images. The queen is in the well and long live the king. The queen would amble down the stepwell softly on her dainty feet. She would bathe in the well below while the sculpted gods and goddesses on the walls gawked .