A BURNING PYRE

The scene was magnificent. A pyre was burning and the peasants, all drunk, were chanting bolo hari, hari bol; bolo hari, hari bol. Some were crying loud, some were sobbing, some sat terribly silent. It was…

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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,…

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