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My First Book – The Blue Rabbit

My first book/ poetry collection in English, The Blue Rabbit, published by Writer’s Workshop, India is now available on Amazon, India for sale.

My first book/ poetry collection in English, The Blue Rabbit was published by Writer’s Workshop, India in July 2021. The book is now available for sale on Amazon, India.

Here’s a teaser of the book.

Contents
51 poems spread over 3 sections: People, Love and Search

Teaser

Two Lives

Craving to write a simple “love” or “mirage”
in a piece of code.
Typing out of a desire
then deleting out of necessity;
“aroma” or “drizzle” or “rainbows”.
In an infinite maze of “ifs” and “elses”
I stand broken, my emotions wrecked.

Poetry lost in logical dilemmas,
stories buried in broken thoughts,
characters strangled to meet deadlines,
plots caught in the catastrophes of demands.
Here I am a lost writer,
writing programs for a living.

The same 26 letters of the English alphabet,
plus some numbers and symbols –
the narrow strait connecting my two lives.

Writers Workshop books are printed by Abhijit Nath, SJ Perfection Printing, Lake Gardens, Kolkata. The books are bound by the family of Aktarun Begum, Tulamiah Mohiuddin’s widow, in a village near Diamond Harbour, outside Kolkata. The books are covered by saree cloth, and the font on the cover uses calligraphy. Since they are hand-made, no two books are exactly the same.

Amazon link:https://www.amazon.in/Blue-Rabbit-Joyce-Job/dp/8194998514/

Alternatively, you can also buy the book directly from the publisher.
Please drop an email at: writersworkshopkolkata@gmail.com
Or please drop a message at: https://www.writersworkshopindia.com/contact-us/
Book link: https://www.writersworkshopindia.com/books/the-blue-rabbit/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/58649315-the-blue-rabbit
Please read, review and share the book.

Featured

Poem: The Dream

To be a bard
To walk as a free man
To tell the tales that made me
And the ones that broke me

To be a bard
To walk as a free man
To tell the tales that made me
And the ones that broke me
To walk all lands
But never belong
To love all
But never to claim anyone as mine
To make friends
With people of all tongues
To hug a beast
And to find similarities
To be me, only me
Not what they want me to be
Not what is right or the social rule
Not what is common
Not the forced versions
Not the rushed ones either
Not what they want me to believe
Not their manipulations
But to be me
Just me
The one I will recognize
As me and mine always.

To the prince-not-so-charming

Just that, true love shouldn’t hurt so bad
Just that, true love shouldn’t make someone feel so empty
Just that, once your conversation is over, the tears that trickle down your cheeks shouldn’t burn and fume

Photo by RODNAE Productions on Pexels.com

To think that the little bird waited
all these years
for a prince-not-so-charming
In the end
Is such a relief to know
To let go
To fly away

Freed
By the absence of love and care
Freed
By the absence of warmth and truth
She looks back longingly at her chains
(His smile and those eyes)
Institutionalized

Love and romance
Isn’t it too overromanticized by books and movies?
Isn’t it too overrated?
What’s all the hype about?
What do I know?

Just that, true love shouldn’t hurt so bad
Just that, true love shouldn’t make someone feel so empty
Just that, once your conversation is over, the tears that trickle down your cheeks shouldn’t burn and fume
It’s over, I say and smile
In the end, the only arms that held me
Belonged to my friends and family.

And it’s such a relief that on my worst days
words still don’t abandon me
poetry never fails to soothe
fellow poets never stop from listening

Nothing special, dear ones
Just that, I got my closure, at last
Just that, I realised, closure wasn’t what my heart wanted
I bent down to write about hate
But all I could jot down is the longing
Pablo Neruda’s longing… ‘but how I loved her.’

I wish to say that I hate you
that I love you… but those words have abandoned me
Instead, let me just jot down narcissistically
I miss being understood
I miss the possibility of love
I miss sharing my grand plans with you

But never again
never again
never again
will I ever come begging
My heart is yet to get used to it.
But it’s the truth – it’s over.
You and I will never be us again.

Poem: Big Days

I hate the big days with fake smiles and photographs
Great food, bright clothes, crowds and social media updates

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com

I hate the big days with fake smiles and photographs
Great food, bright clothes, crowds and social media updates

In the end, I just want to go back to my room
Shut my door to the world and sleep in peace

I like the quiet days when I get out of my head
I look at little things and catch myself smiling

I wonder why I can’t be like that every day
To just live, you know, not worrying about the ‘to be or not to be’s

Poem: Concrete Dreams

Bricks laid upon bricks,
mortar holding them in place;
houses on top of houses,
walls inside walls inside walls;

Photo by Ave Calvar Martinez on Pexels.com

I sit on the bamboo chair in my room
and try to dream.
Bricks laid upon bricks,
mortar holding them in place;
houses on top of houses,
walls inside walls inside walls;
cacophony of car honks, modified bikes
screeching on nearby roads.


I shout,
and the concrete chew
my voice, my memories
and spit it right back
on my face.
The enchanting kingdom of wires and screens
lie scattered on my table;
have I ever been more disconnected?


Alexa, can you hear me?
Ask me something,
I haven’t talked for a while.
Or play me a song about love?
Or tell me what you think about life?
I have forgotten the way to my heart.

Poem: The Lizard on the Wall

The lizard on the wall
tongues the white switches,
tastes the black plug,

Photo by Min An on Pexels.com

The lizard on the wall
tongues the white switches,
tastes the black plug,
slurps the shadow wire
all the way to my screen.

Tail curling, eyes bulgy,
feet like autumn trees;
he waits beneath the CPU now.
You suddenly make me miss
the dinosaurs from my childhood shows!

It’s a lonely night, yet you seem so sure.
My fingers rest on the keyboard, watching you.
Do we really know what we are loo(ic)king for?

Poem: Jump

We sit on a bridge
My head on your shoulder
Fingers entangled
Feet touching

Photo by Gantas Vaiu010diulu0117nas on Pexels.com

We sit on a bridge
My head on your shoulder
Fingers entangled
Feet touching

One quick jump
We could’ve swum with the fishes
Float with the algae
Drank from the river

Why didn’t we?

Poem: Keep At It, Writer

Searching for the right words to tell a tale since ages
But it’s not falling into place and I don’t know what to do

Photo by Min An on Pexels.com

Searching for the right words to tell a tale since ages
But it’s not falling into place and I don’t know what to do
Do you know what the real issue is?
I’m not really sure if there is a story in me
Even if it exists, I don’t think I have the guts to write it
I don’t have the skills or experience to do it well

I should send the muses away to find a better writer
A good human being would have done that
But I’m not a good human, I’m a selfish one
I want to write that story even if it’s too good for me
I want to write it and claim it as mine forever

So I keep working, day after day, night after night
No assurances, no self-confidence, no progress
Someday it will all make sense to you
Until then just keep at it and don’t give up
If it goes bad, chuck it in the dustbin
If it comes out alright, frame it

If you grow old in the process, grow old with the story
If you grow up by then, grow up with the book
But don’t abandon, don’t abandon, don’t abandon, just yet
Keep at it, keep at it, keep at it, day and night
You don’t know where it will take you
To the gems or to the ruins, each has its own value…

Poem: Lover’s Hate

Memories
Like a cotton thread pulled out
Of an oozing wound…

Photo by Flora Westbrook on Pexels.com

Memories
Like a cotton thread pulled out
Of an oozing wound…
Heart
Like a fumigated room
So dead, so sterile
Yet, past lingers
Like the after taste of a kiss
Bitter or sweet?
So unsure…

I long for you
Half-asleep
Half-mad
Your name on my lips, a hundred times,
Like an abuse
A slogan
A prayer

Oh! To smile
To hold your face
To disintegrate in your arms
Like smoke in the rain
Like dreams swallowed by pills…
Oh! To breathe
To have a minute delusion
Of zero hurt and regrets
Oh! To not remember you at all, for a day, forever…
If only I could hate, hate you…
Hate everything I once loved in you…
Hate everything… I once loved in you…