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"It was a wonderful experience interacting with you and appreciate the way you have planned and executed the whole publication process within the agreed timelines.”
Subrat SaurabhAuthor of Kuch Woh PalIniRya has been writing since childhood, from 6 years of age, using the page as a sanctuary for her thoughts and emotions. A writer fueled by curiosity and a radical imagination, she explores the delicate balance between tenderness and fury. Her work serves as an intimate window into the interiority of the human spirit.Read More...
IniRya has been writing since childhood, from 6 years of age, using the page as a sanctuary for her thoughts and emotions. A writer fueled by curiosity and a radical imagination, she explores the delicate balance between tenderness and fury. Her work serves as an intimate window into the interiority of the human spirit.
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All My Quiet Was Blue reads like a body of weather rather than a book, something you walk into and let soak through you.
This collection moves in hushed pulses: grief that doesn’t announce itself, longing that lingers after the moment has passed, tenderness that almost apologizes for existing. There’s a strong sense of restraint here, emotion held back just enough to make it ache more. Silence isn’t empty in these poems; it’s crowded. Blue becom
All My Quiet Was Blue reads like a body of weather rather than a book, something you walk into and let soak through you.
This collection moves in hushed pulses: grief that doesn’t announce itself, longing that lingers after the moment has passed, tenderness that almost apologizes for existing. There’s a strong sense of restraint here, emotion held back just enough to make it ache more. Silence isn’t empty in these poems; it’s crowded. Blue becomes more than a color: it’s a temperature, a mood, a way of breathing through things you don’t yet have language for.
What makes the collection feel human and raw is its refusal to resolve. These poems don’t rush toward healing or clarity. They sit with confusion, with quiet jealousy, with love that doesn’t know where to go. The voice feels young but not naive which isn't aware of the weight of feeling too much and speaking too little. There’s an intimacy to the work, as if the reader is overhearing thoughts that were never meant to be performed, only survived.
Overall, All My Quiet Was Blue is about the interiority about the emotional life that happens when nothing “big” is supposed to be happening.
All My Quiet Was Blue reads like a body of weather rather than a book, something you walk into and let soak through you.
This collection moves in hushed pulses: grief that doesn’t announce itself, longing that lingers after the moment has passed, tenderness that almost apologizes for existing. There’s a strong sense of restraint here, emotion held back just enough to make it ache more. Silence isn’t empty in these poems; it’s crowded. Blue becom
All My Quiet Was Blue reads like a body of weather rather than a book, something you walk into and let soak through you.
This collection moves in hushed pulses: grief that doesn’t announce itself, longing that lingers after the moment has passed, tenderness that almost apologizes for existing. There’s a strong sense of restraint here, emotion held back just enough to make it ache more. Silence isn’t empty in these poems; it’s crowded. Blue becomes more than a color: it’s a temperature, a mood, a way of breathing through things you don’t yet have language for.
What makes the collection feel human and raw is its refusal to resolve. These poems don’t rush toward healing or clarity. They sit with confusion, with quiet jealousy, with love that doesn’t know where to go. The voice feels young but not naive which isn't aware of the weight of feeling too much and speaking too little. There’s an intimacy to the work, as if the reader is overhearing thoughts that were never meant to be performed, only survived.
Overall, All My Quiet Was Blue is about the interiority about the emotional life that happens when nothing “big” is supposed to be happening.
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