From Unpublishing Myself: Letters to Editor
Sabyasachi Sanyal
Letter 13
Dear Editor,
From my apartment’s window, I see—
through black leaves, the road, traffic,
and rain take form.
On the balcony next door, two adults
discuss misunderstandings,
gaps in communication—
textbook syntax grows disjointed,
wandering between hope and hysteria.
In this viscosity,
I didn’t notice when a corridor-sky stretched out.
Forgive me, if by this fireplace,
fragility and haziness enfold me.
I know you’ll say literature matures
when stories turn into myths
and poetry into clichés.
But I understand resolution isn’t desired—
poetry is a man’s nipple twisting
with affection toward a child.
So, I don’t think of communication or completed cycles lately—
instead, my finger brushes from subject to subject,
catching the scent of skin,
the illness that slips into turpentine’s flammability,
into film reels, sound, honey, and alkali.
Letter 24
Dear Editor,
Sadness is an urgent state. On sad days, one shaves perfectly, as if perfection might hold back the storm. All mirrors are convex then, water too. Parting water, I cross to the other side of Nazrul’s songs.
Those who say sadness is urgent are good people—they seat me at neat tables, serve cheese omelets. The scent of butter and mushrooms wanders in handkerchiefs, bathrooms, cologne.
Those who say distress is urgent are good people—they wipe my hands and feet with warm towels, remove my worn jeans and t-shirt, dress me in crisp white nightwear, place jasmine by the bedside, and turn off the light.
And then, they remove my photos from walls; scrub my poems from bathroom tiles, even those I wrote on crumpled tissue, tearing them away as though they were never written.
Note: Kazi Nazrul Islam (1899–1976), a towering figure in Bangla literature, was a poet, musician, and revolutionary whose works, like those of Rabindranath Tagore, resonate with lyrical beauty and emotional depth. Known as the “Rebel Poet,” his songs and poetry blend melodic richness with themes of resistance, spirituality, and human connection, leaving a lasting legacy in Bengali culture.
Letter 28
Dear Editor,
Emptiness never comes alone—
it brings its shadow.
Sand grains fail, forgetting solitude,
forgetting molecular seclusion,
forming ties like morning dew.
Like a pregnant person and their boundless Sunday evening—
before evening, a snake’s swimming line,
straying from branches, lightning,
corpse-bound beetles, settling on a pressed shirt’s collar,
entering nerves.
Fresh rain stops,
moonlight’s comfort rests on wet leaves…
in earth’s depths, promised days begin,
yet in wind’s contours, emptiness sways.
Sinking, I understand it enters lungs,
blunting pain.
Sabyasachi Sanyal writes primarily in Bengali. He served as an associate editor for the Avant-Garde poetry magazine Kaurab for nearly two decades and helped develop circumcontentive poetry; a translingual, multiepistemological experimental poetic form that was featured in Jacket2. His work has appeared in Aufgabe, Action-Spectacle and various Bangla lit mags. Sabyasachi works as a molecular biologist in Lucknow, India.
Table of Contents for A Formal Feeling