My childhood summers were tightly associated with my uneducated grandma and the wheat fields in the countryside. The rough but pure country scenery makes the spine of my being. The voice of my grandma fused into the cordial scent of the wheats.
Those sultry summers still remain inmy body, revolting against the incongruous winters of my life and coalescing the fragments of self.
YOU ARE READING
The monsoon literature
PoesíaOur self is always so distant a leap from the surroundings. Literature is the medium of the minority to revolt, to state existence.
