Spoil Of Sycophancy

For all those journalists who think they belong to a thankless and poorly-paid profession, there is hope on the horizon. It comes from the latest…

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Until Death Do Us Part

I am your valuable,/The Pure gold baby,/That melts to a shriek,/I turn and burn,/Do not think I underestimate your/great concern./Ash, ash/You poke and stir,/Flesh, bone,…

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Marching To Discovery

In the coolness of the early morning there is little traffic on National Highway 3. Outward bound from Nasik, the tar stretches infinitely in mottled…

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