Writer, editor, dilettante Dilliwali

When you went how was it you carried with you/ My missal book of fine, flamboyant hours?
My book of turrets and of red-thorn bowers/ And skies of gold, and ladies in bright tissue?

Now underneath a blue-grey twilight, heaped/ Beyond the withering snow of the shorn fields
Stands rubble of stunted houses; all is reaped/ And garnered that the golden daylight yields.

Dim lamps like yellow poppies glimmer among/ The shadowy stubble of the under-dusk,
As farther off the scythe of night is swung,/ And little stars come rolling from their husk.

And all the earth is gone into a dust/ Of greyness mingled with a fume of gold,
Covered with aged lichens, past with must,/ And all the sky has withered and gone cold.

And so I sit and scan the book of grey,/ Feeling the shadows like a blind man reading,
All fearful lest I find the last words bleeding/ With wounds of sunset and the dying day.

"Grey Evening"

From Amores, by DH Lawrence

Sonal Shah

About

I'm a freelance writer and editor currently based in New Delhi. I have previously worked at The Caravan and Time Out Delhi. More about me here.

This site is a collection of things I've penned or put together, from longer reported projects to short pieces; as well as random works in progress, sketches, translations, and so forth.

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