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September 2017, vol 13 no 3

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Anna Bala


A torrent of rain water carries the helpless roach towards an unknown destiny. Does it need a second chance? Who am I to ask?

Glued to the pavement is a wet leaf. Picking it up, I hold it close to the roach. After three tumbles, it manages to hold onto the side of the leaf. I hoist it back to safety. It promptly... disappears.

The leaf flutters as I place it on the hedge of evergreen foliage. The pavement is patches of dry and wet. The sun sparkles through the foliage.

letting go . . .
the wind in the whistle
off my lips