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I don't say anything the way the scarlet fish can hardly swim. I don't see anything the way it should be seen, the straight tree so blurred on the eyelids the timorous clouds can hardly show themselves. I don't think anything the way it should be thought, the silk-cotton tree flowers' deep red jangles like a bell as I go staggering along....
-- Rama Ghosh |
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Boston Review, 19932005. All rights
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