It’s not too late. a poem by Bhuwan Thapaliya

It’s not too late “I could tell the color of her lipstick just by feeling the wind. Now I can taste nothing,” this is what my uncle told me when I called him to inquire about his coronavirus recovery. I said don’t worry, you will be fine soon and hung up the phone. After fewContinue reading “It’s not too late. a poem by Bhuwan Thapaliya”

Sloshing sound of a flowing river. A poem by Bhuwan Thapaliya

Sloshing sound of a flowing river Through my window, filthy clouds of dust reel in from the graveled lanes of an offended city. It distorts my sights, soaks my shirt with filth, churns my stomach and infuriates me all the time. It is not just the denseness of the air or the stench of theContinue reading “Sloshing sound of a flowing river. A poem by Bhuwan Thapaliya”