At the crossroads
By Kirsten Le Harivel
The rickshaw driver sees me,
dupatta flapping, tiffin swinging;
late as usual.
As we head to my office
we speak about his daughter,
her child in Kolkata.
At the crossroads
By Kirsten Le Harivel
The rickshaw driver sees me,
dupatta flapping, tiffin swinging;
late as usual.
As we head to my office
we speak about his daughter,
her child in Kolkata.