A bamboo chair sits listless in the corner. The maid rarely comes by anymore but, even she stopped dusting long ago. After the tradgedy that is. How many tears have been shed? She ponders but, seems distracted nontheless. How many sunrises have faded away and cast long shadows against the pale backdrop of that day? A very tall man in a gray pinstripe suit knocks on the door. Bamboo remains a curiosity really. In the days of the Colonial Revival how did she consider it amongst the tattered memories of the bourgeois? It's stained red, almost a violet red. Red? She opined. None of this fits the description of a weary traveler.
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Syra Pantalone : Collected Works
PoetryThis project is a republishing of the rediscovered writings of Syra Pantalone. The youngest sibling of guru Subahan Pantalone, born to a French Diplomat and Hindu mother, Syra devoted her life to chronicling her brother's teachings and expressing th...
