Parchi is a petite thing. A beauty thing with words. You sit still on the green bench and let the words flow as in dream.
Realism is a few bell tinkles punctuated with men coughing out phlegm from their deep throats . The bench has its green paint chipped off in places.
The bells tinkle from a garbage van. Someone is making nostril noises this side. Is he sniffing the smells of the garbage van?That is realism for my words. Sounds happen before words.