where the writers are

Naval Langa's Writings

Short Story
THE DENSE CLOUDS lowered their stocks washing out the surface of the earth. Midnight. Rain. The darkness went into every drop of the water. Hopp spurred his horses to run high. The chariot was not good to run at its best. It was un-oiled since the ages. But it was valuable for him, made by the great grand farther of his great grand father. Right-side wheel of the...
Short Story
THE CLOCK HAS no time to rest. But my time is frozen. Sun might have warmed earth outside the hospital-room; moon might have cooled people’s bodies worn by fatigue; but I have lost feeling for such transients. For me the time has not resumed yet. Ajay lay on bed: attacked by the hooligans—three stabs in his belly. The doctors have struggled for the whole night...