We the poets, masters of Time,
In thrall every hour
With bubbling, singeing hearts,
and glistening eyes,
We light bonfires, or embellish
edificies with tiny lamps.
- Max
Friday, December 4, 2009
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Max Babi, my guru, like Tukaram has a weakness - he barely records his prolific output of poetry. Tukaram is immortal because of Santaji Jagnade who collected his works; this is my attempt to get as much of Max's stuff (he sends it on SMS) in one place.
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