Centaur, firing an arrow Indu Parvathi At the window, the crow waits for its usual, half a banana or a biscuit, but the astrologer reads forefathers’ ire in its calls, warns of imports. Between cousins and curtains, the spout of my Sagittarian teapot tilts towards his board spilling milky ways. Impress him. Nebulae rise with the fumes from the ghee lit lamp, –Eau de space– it’s acrid. He decodes cyphers from my palm leaf horoscope, only a bride crossing the […] Continue Reading
