Mona Banerjee, from Kolkata, was born into a family of real literary giants; her maternal grandmother was Lila Majumdar, the well-known Bengali writer of children's books. From her dad's side, she's linked to THE Tagores. Maybe this fueled her love for reading, writing, drawing ... stuff like that. Family pressures put all this…
Since I hear no clamor from publishers wanting to publish anything written by me, I have decided to publish my "poetry" here. I suspect it will make them look quite silly. That is, if this blog is on their reading list. Most of these lines appeared as throwaways on assorted Facebook groups. When…
One day, Little Red Writer decided to write poetry. Now, poetry is very hard to do. Little Red Writer was little and unschooled. He had some words in his bag and he wanted to show his words to his granny, Facebook. Little Red Writer knew that poetry has rules. These are to be followed and…
I wrote this poem for no reason For it's really just the season. This poem is quite small and it's very stupid and all. Tubetops, when they put these on you also get those bare knees on. You know this is really quite silly For I'm writing stuff willy nilly. You may exclaim…
I just explored a new career possibility as a painter. Which should surprise you, no? So far, as you know, I have displayed no artistic ability at all. I've taken the odd photograph, yes, with a couple of photo essays. One was about spring and the other was about fall. I have even showed…
You've said a lot. So have I. You've done a lot. Have I? I've thought a lot. So have you. I've tried a lot. Have you? You've hurt a lot. So Have I. You've worked a lot. Have I? I've cried a lot. So have you. I've smiled a lot. Have you?
Left home and my heart behind with our future on my mind. Just me? Only me? Seems it's me, not we. Looks like it's going to rain. Lord, I don't want that again. It's only me here. Could do with you here. But then, again, is that true? Will you paint my rainbow blue?…
I cannot lie - it is I. I don't mean to boast or preen but it is true I shopped for shoes and wrote about my woes. The blog it is dry, the humour forced. The Pomes are silly and the stories long A rant or two - There's even a song And…
He’s a good friend to me, he is. Wherever I go he goes before me. In a public urinal when I go to piss He alerts me to dally not, but pee quickly and get the hell out. He has not gracefully aged Grown a forest, wooded and mossy. Discharged fluids so far…
The path to the future never did run straight I have to walk along it, the silent victim of fate. The sun plays hide and seek between the trees Zephyrs lay their gentle touch, the buzzing bees are busy with the business of their flowery date I wonder at the meaning of the…