Poems in Porcelain These Broken Wor(l)ds
A cycle of musings
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Why did I write these poems? Am I another student writing or exploring poetry through a range of myriad emotions like many of my age group? Will I outgrow these poems? Yes and No. Yes, as a record of emotions. No, because once I pen these lines, they are part of a larger cosmic space. Time to stay put yet move on. These poems are my attempt to look at what loss means. Can loneliness and solitude be mapped amid the urban cacophony; amid a world driven by cutoffs, career, and insensitivity? Don't call them poems; I don't mind. Call them musings, thoughts, torn pages of my diary, or a million voi...
Why did I write these poems? Am I another student writing or exploring poetry through a range of myriad emotions like many of my age group? Will I outgrow these poems? Yes and No. Yes, as a record of emotions. No, because once I pen these lines, they are part of a larger cosmic space. Time to stay put yet move on. These poems are my attempt to look at what loss means. Can loneliness and solitude be mapped amid the urban cacophony; amid a world driven by cutoffs, career, and insensitivity? Don't call them poems; I don't mind. Call them musings, thoughts, torn pages of my diary, or a million voices that rebel inside my head. There are also lines of rebellion, or shall I call lines of resistance? Who draws the line? Who decides that we should not cross it? These poems have two distinct crosscurrents running through it: the idea of a loss and the loss of ideas. And I don't even claim to be a writer. I am a chronicler of my private universe-digital, lyrical, physical, chemical, and real. So, here's to Nana; my parents, Adhiraj, and a friend (let's say for the time being "her"), who is the subject of some of these lines and my thoughts. Thank you all for allowing me to express. Blurt. Scream. Rave. Rant. Hallucinate. Dream. Try to shape the path of the syllables. Write silences. Jayshree Ma'am and Madhu Ma'am for their affection and unqualified love. And lastly, Parnab Mukherjee sir, for his never-ending support and help. Someone who has brought out the artist in me and mentored me along the way. I hope to have the honour of his friendship throughout. As I stand in the academic crossroads of my life, I am sure, I will write more. So here's a declaration from a non-poet: Treat these lines as musings of a friend. Even if they won't heal, at least they will not harm. And these lines won't bite. May you find my conversations with myself worth the reading voyage. Cheers! From Arinjaya Second week of a cold December 2016, Jaipur.
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