The year’s one long orange peel thrown on the floor
most segments sucked dry, they're giving nothing more
leaf flurries of words caught up in crosswinds
and chat shows about children tangled in war.
Each day has its spinoffs in love and suffering
the old deaths, and young deaths nipped firmly in spring,
drifts of people who don’t know what they’re out forand minutes which don’t know quite why they’re turning.
Gosh, I am in stock-taking mode already! Every year, this process telescopes into itself and gets weirder and weirder. I mean, one moment I am trying really hard to remember the year's called 2016 now and the next minute it's zoom! autumn going on 2017...but thankfully there's still a bit of breathing space.
Blogposts so far - 83
Poems - 75 (Eng) 37 (BEng)
Short stories - 5.5
Anthologies - 3
Writer's, and other, blocks - 332+
I've written less than I did, posted less than I did compared to 2015, probably a good thing on second thought! Probably greater focus on quality. A few writing weeks got knocked off because of various illnesses - mine, family members', hardware's, none of them fatal, so far. Loads of firsts this year - wrote poetry in Bengali, took writing courses, wrote genres I don't usually write, read modern poetry for the first time in life, and even understood some of it! Nothing much really to whinge about still, and with only one month left to navigate. Not counting my chickens before they hatch or anything like that, you hear me, universe? Keep turning it the way you are.