It seems so simple: all the human population has to do to end injustice of any sort is realise that all life was made intrinsically equal. I don’t mean people are all equal in terms of biology, wealth, socioeconomic status, physical beauty according to current standards or any of that transactional stuff. I’m talking about…
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I had conflicting feelings about sharing this poem. The seeming atmosphere of outrage around us doesn’t seem to encourage self-reflection. Almost everyone will have seen memes about the ways in which 2020 has been a catastrophic year – a deadly disease transforming work, if not stopping it all together, the Black Lives matter movement catching…
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A post about the role that blogging, writing and the study of Literature plays during a pandemic like coronavirus.
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Today is the Bengali New Year (Shubho Noboborsho or Poila Boishak). Since people from West Bengal mark this festivity as a time of auspicious beginnings, I thought that I should write a poem to mark a sacred beginning of my own creation.
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A poem about water-forms.
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Hello again, I’m back with (more) attempts at writing poetry and an update about starting Hilary Term (i.e. Term 2) at Oxford. Since I’ve been gone, I’ve been writing away for our weekly essays about everything including the lives of saints in Old English up until the modernist experiments of T.S. Eliot. I’ve taken up…
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Trees spilling with boughs of white flowers Like bright eyes, shrouded in the waxy palms of leaves I watch some fall, stolen by the breeze, I watch them fall (in love). Petals unfurling, they embrace the dusk with open arms, sprinkling the earth. Hush. Listen to them land: tiny, soft blankets for unseen slumbering fairies.…
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I wrote this poem in light of the events in the news recently that have made the word ‘home’ a politically charged one, and also as a memory of my personal experiences that put into question what home might be.
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Humbling, funny and cringeworthy – that was my experience of writing this scene imagining myself as a mentor to a teenage version of myself. For all the earnest young writers and English students out there!
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In childhood, it’s possible for us to see, even believe, in the magic of fairytales. But as we grow older, there’s no reason why we can’t take our grown-up problems and laugh at them, thanks to the superpower that being human gives us: the power to tell stories. This fairytale is really a story I wrote for myself, to capture the circus of our minds that only we can hear.
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