How strange that it never dawned on me
Ashok Sawhny
More From Ashok Sawhny
By the River's Bed
By the river's bed
Through the Mist of a Winter's Morn
Through the mist of a winter's morn
Man in the Crucible of Devastation and Avarice
Whether you write
Life’s a Bivouac, A Conundrum
Times change, values change, but
Little Heavens
It’s the little ones that a big heaven make,
That Nebulous Search
When I hear my heart sing
Food For Thought
The arrow that without feathers, flies
An Ode to the River Ganges
Along your banks, O Revered Mother
A Strange New Year
To kill time or fill time
