One is straight away struck by the paucity of words availed to expound this chanced-upon poesis born in the crevasses of cultural hybridity and nourished in the no man's lands of ascetic transmutation...

Rene's last walk to the beach

And passed through the palm groves,
tall golden grasses 
bent by breeze bordered everything 
bathed in diaphanous sunbeams,
morning mists and the smoke from cottages

(Malabar)

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