People Think They Fail In Vain, But I Say 'in Vain' Is A Phrase For The Defeatists. You Might Never know

"No, I won't eat," 5-year-old me would say and slam the door with vexation after being rebuked by his mother. "You eat alone," he'd cry in response to the persistent calls, knowing at the same time that mom wouldn't take a single bite, leaving him hungry. After an hour or two, mom would be back with the plate, feed him with her own hands, and home would be where it was supposed to be. The pollen grains, I learned, dare to fly, soar, and flutter in the wind only 'cause they know there will be flowers to catch them.

A bad day at school. 15-year-old me would bitterly answer a question from mom and regret the entire night for yelling at her for no reason at all. He'd sit beside her the next morning and greet her with a sorry. "I didn't mean to..." he would utter, and mom, cheerful as ever, would respond with a smile by that time. "You needn't," she'd say, and ask with uneasiness, "What happened at school yesterday?" "You could reply to me in that way," she'd add with assurance, "'cause you cannot with the world. 'Cause you trust I'm the only one who won't take it to heart". He'd already be in tears, embrace his mom tightly, and home would be where it was supposed to be. The love I sought for ages, I learned, is a mother.

Shayan Das, excerpt from 'The Love I Learned'

Are you really writing poetry since you were 11 ? The themes that you write with just have a wholly different and mature kind of vibe. To be frank, I just fell in love with your writing style at the very first glance. Now, if you're wondering, I'm not an adult like you, I'm just a 15 year old boy who is stuck in an environment where most people (most) don't have any appreciation for the beaty of the simple things in life and are too much focused on moving forward rather than taking some time to their selves. They have all forgotten that sometimes it's ok to sit idle and do nothing. Just gaze at the starry sky or the spring blossoms. So, I took to poetry to relieve myself and for the first time in 2 years I have known a marvellous person like you who wants to appreciate the little joys of life observe the personalities of other people from a different point of view. When I first read your posts I was dumbfounded, to be honest, and so I just want to congratulate you on your success in literature and romanticism and also for reminding me that there are other people like me. And lastly, love your work, keep going <3.

Gosh, this is everything! I can't thank you enough for writing this. Yes, I've been writing since I was 11 obsessed with Shelley/Keats and the entire Romantic movement, maybe not as fervently as now but yes those were some of the most promising times of my life, promising in the sense that there were little to no restrictions on my writing process be it academics or something else. I'm sorry that you're unable to find like-minded people around you entirely but then aren't we all on the same bus? But the best thing is that we needn't change people's perceptions. Everyone has their own ideologies and even existing in a time like ours with a realistic attitude (leave the romantic) is a matter of sheer audacity and courage. I remember the day after writing the last exam of my grade 10th finals. I was convincing my father about my ardent interest to take creative writing instead of medicine for further studies and heard him saying, "The seas might look the best things to romanticize so as long you're hydrated but in the fullness of time, you'll find 'tis the clouds invariably not seas which can quench your thirst". And I was convinced beyond the shadow of a doubt how people are born romantic and made realists.

** And lastly I'm not an adult as well making sagacious remarks on life & love. I'm 19 y/o and more or less in a similar situation as yours or maybe more tangled, striving every moment against worldly notions and seeking escapism through art. Thanks for asking and wish you a great day/evening/night ahead. <3

I discovered self-love that very day when I extended my arms to embrace your delusional form and ended up embracing myself.

Shayan Das

I remember the day after writing the last exam of my grade 10th finals. I was convincing my father about my ardent interest in taking creative writing for further studies and heard him say, "The seas might look the best things to romanticise, so as long as you're hydrated, but in the fullness of time, you'll find 'tis the clouds, invariably not the seas, that can quench your thirst". And I realised beyond a shadow of a doubt how people are born romantics and made realists.

Shayan Das

Fall Poetry Recommendations 🍁

To Autumn by John Keats

My November Guest by Robert Frost

Fall, leaves, fall by Emily Brontë

Autumn by John Clare

End of Summer by Stanley Kunitz

Sonnet 73 by William Shakespeare

Sunset to Star Rise by Christina Rossetti

First Fall by Maggie Smith

Ode to the West Wind by P.B. Shelley

Autumn Song by W.H. Auden

Tell me not here by  A.E. Houseman

The Wild Swans at Coole William Butler Yeats

Japanese Maple by Clive James

The Beautiful Changes by Richard Wilbur

Among the Rocks by Robert Browning

Nothing Gold Can Stay by Robert Frost

Beyond the Red River by Thomas McGrath

September Midnight by Sara Teasdale

Autumn Fires by Robert Louis Stevenson

A Reminiscence by Richard O. Moore

It's September by Edgar Albert Guest

The best way to see Van Gogh's "Starry Night" is to stare at the center of the spiral for 20 seconds and then look at the painting.

"So, what of next year's resolutions?", I heard my friend ask the other day and found myself stuck in a quiet storm, stirring the ache of all the changes I'd wished for but never lived this year. New days, new weeks, new months, new years—how often I've chased the illusion of 'new', convinced that everything would start from the very beginning—only to find myself, each day, pleading for the following day—begging each week for another week. How dearly I've celebrated the turning of each year, like prophets ushering in salvation, only to discover the freshness of the same calendar fading by February, the corners dog-eared, and promises—so solemnly sworn—becoming ghosts lingering in the silence of unkempt rooms. As if the trees that shed their twigs in autumn do not grow the same leaves with the same roots in spring—as if when flipping pages in a book, the story never retains its plot—as if the mere change of a night could unshackle the chains of a lifelong sorrow.

Shayan Das, New Year's Resolutions

What comes to your mind when you behold the moon? Her beauty, her sobriety, her ataraxy? Does she arouse you with her esoteric charm or take you to an uncharted land where you lie composedly amidst your materiality and hallucinations? Whatever it may be, the bitter reality is that whatever the moon possesses is all borrowed from someone else, who in turn is rough, harsh, and relentless. But does it create any discrepancy? Don’t you love her? Or does she not bring you the memories of your foregone romance? Those promiscuous kisses and vehement embraces? In life, try to consume the acrimony of others and spread the art of mellowness through your moves, for, in the long run, it’s not what you receive but what you give that makes all the difference!

Shayan Das

Saying she had to be loved was an understatement; she deserved to be worshipped.

Shayan Das

My mother always says, "If ever you feel like life's way too unfair to you know that even one as this is a far-flung dream for millions".

Shayan Das