The death of muse.

I am tired of the repetitive cliché write-ups being glorified by next gen writers. I am tired of their never settling enthusiasm which fuels the underserved hype.

I am tired of all wannabe intellectuals who have categorized poetry in accordance with their agenda. As if activism is the only means to obtain the ‘oomph’ factor or to get the maximum cheers on what has been written/spoken.

I am tired of everyone in the literature fraternity who has continuously compromised with the structure and flow,just because ‘it’ was ‘important’.

I am tired of reading poetry that glorifies depression as if it were some muse. As if anxiety is something we,the messed up youth with complex mental issues, love to entertain.

I am tired of people depreciating humour because it lacks ‘depth’ and coherent appeal.

I am tired of people who measure the brilliance of a written piece by numbers mechanism. I am tired of the likes in triple figures and the staggering amount of shares on your ‘touching’ posts.

I am tired of not relating to your art,people. Your aesthetics had nothing to do with your punctured description.

I am tired of your rants in the name of prose writing. I am tired of your sass,class and unfathomable rebellion.

Basically,I am tired of myself.


5 thoughts on “The death of muse.”

      1. Probably not. You have to enquire from Bengali publishers of kids poems. Ask for “aboltabol” by Sukumar Roy, father of Satyajit Ray. “Aboltabol” loosely means nonsense.

        Liked by 1 person

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