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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 9, Number 3, September 2015


Paresh Tiwari
Mumbai, Maharashtra, India


The train tears through the arid landscape with the urgency of a switchblade. In the distance stray silhouettes take the blue hue of fallen stars. My breath hangs limp in the air, a ghost, a frozen montage of my existence, the tentative beginnings, the climaxes, and the decay. Telephone poles and scraggy trees whiz past in the opposite direction, keeping their distance.

When the train rumbles over the Ganges, its wheels echoing through the hollowness of an iron overpass, I toss a coin into the night. No longer are there any wishes to make or bargains to offer the river goddess, but old habits can be a little difficult to break away from.

starry sky
those empty spaces
in the crayon box



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