A mother’s request
My mother told me to get a job at a post office.
It’s not the bare minimum
It’s an opulence
It’s a way of craving to focus more on empty time
Leisure
Where no work pressure arises
To focus more on writing
Playing with colours on pages
On canvases.
My mother told me to get a job at a post office
Be a postman, be an official
Be a clerk
Secure the warmth of a 9-to-5 job
Hectic rules
Busy schedules
Will increase adrenaline to let loose your thoughts more on paper
Sweat will turn into blood
And blood will turn into words
Words will turn into poetry
Poetry will turn into the saga of life
A drama of tragedy-comedy.
My mother told me to divide time into sections
I have to learn compartmentalization
Don’t bury yourself in exile
Sadness
Keep yourself engaged in work
Work of different kinds
Different temperament
That will give you sauce
Sauce to marinate things
Things into prosaic narration
Of struggles, hustle, and comfort.
My mother told me to get a job
Get a life
Write something realistic,
Forget the avant-garde
The modernists, the postmodernists
Be a naturalist of representation
Reconstruction
Be a simple contemporary man
Man of moments
Man of letters
Man of prestige
Man of commitment
My mother told me to get a job at a school, college
At a post office.
You will be surrounded with papers, letters, notes
You can release your agony onto pages
That will make a masterpiece
Through trial and error.
Srijani Dutta hails from India. She is an independent researcher and a writer. She has published her poems and paintings in Ultramarine journal, Setu, Kashmir Lit journal, Synchronised Chaos, Teesta journal, Beatnik Cowboy journal, RIC journal, and others. She has worked as a guest lecturer in English.
