Tag: flesh tarde

I SELL FLESH NO MORE

  Gone were the days When men swarmed her hut, And passed metamorphic nights.   She was a peerless beauty, Tall and stout, and an elusive broad smile Always stuck her.   Body shapely and muscular, eyes, large And liquid, Hair long, thick and black, and Men bought gifts night and day.   Traces of beauty still she holds, But her old suitors tread her yard no more. At times a few drunken strangers visit her.   She then shriek, ‘I sell flesh no more,’ And drive the strangers out, But clients she can’t dissuade thus.   So she hung

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Subhash Chandra
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"A gifted writer"

A gifted versetile writer who writes excellent stories and poems on the invisibles, pariahs, margins, aged, weaklings of our society. A rising star on the literary firmament.
Santosh Bakaya
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Praise for my writing

“Your story Undersell left me with a lump in my throat, so did your poem, He also lights candles.”
Louis Kasatkin
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Praise for my poem "Elderly Men Two"

"A finely honed observational piece recording the minutiae of everyday life. Rendered with the author’s customary poetic aplomb suffused with a Borges like quality of the mythic."

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