To read a poetry book or blog and do justice to yourself, the reader and the author, the poet, one needs to be relaxed and ready for the encounter, just as if one is all set to sit with and relish the company of a loved one. And that is what I did with the two poetry books you gifted me in our last encounter. I have penned my spontaneous comments and dispatched them to the lady of the Earth Elegies and here’s the one for Medusa, says it All.
I read it from the last page to the first for a game change. Learned of an entry into a life lived between family and hope, city and the hills, rains and the clouds, drizzles and droplets and everywhere the tinge and hue, light and heavy of love, tender and sensual, erotic and flamboyant. Always surprised at catching it like a voyeur, undoing if the hints and lusts are there or somewhere in my ‘bachelor brain’. But you cannot deny, given there’s a calculated, spontaneous effort to be true to the titillations it offers.
I come upon new words and colour, glimpses into personal life – taking the reader with you into the recesses of your thoughts and feelings – about mother, grandmother, brushed and measured, into alleys and bylanes, child to be and not yet. (In response to Sreetanwi’s poetry book)