The poetry of a horse on the move4 min read . Updated: 20 Jan 2012, 08:29 PM IST
The poetry of a horse on the move
Pappu is nuzzling my neck. He smells of hay and heaven. His hot breath fills my nape as he nudges my tussar silk dupatta aside. The material must tickle his nose because he does something I’ve rarely seen horses do: He grins.
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