Rating:
⭐⭐⭐⭐½ (4.5 out of 5)
There are some poetry books you read slowly. Not because they are difficult in language, but because they feel heavy in the chest. You read one poem, then you close the book for a minute. You stare somewhere. You breathe.
That was my experience with The Brown Man Ferries by Bhaswati Khasnabis.
As Editor in Chief at Deified Publication, I read poetry collections almost every week. Many of them revolve around love, personal longing, self discovery. But this one felt different from the very first pages. It does not begin with romance. It begins with the world. With war. With hunger. With refugees. And then, slowly, it moves inward into grief so personal that you almost feel like you are intruding.
I was not expecting that shift. And I think that is where the book begins to reveal its strength.
What The Brown Man Ferries Is About
If someone searches for a simple book summary of The Brown Man Ferries, they might say it is a collection of poems about global conflict and personal loss. That is technically correct. But it is not complete.
This is Bhaswati Khasnabis’s fourth book of poetry. In the introduction, she speaks openly about grieving her husband’s death for over two years and about how this new collection widens its gaze to include genocide, refugee crises, state sponsored violence, hunger, and injustice. She is not writing from an ivory tower. She is writing as someone who has lost deeply and is looking at a world that continues to lose.
The table of contents itself reads like a litany of unrest. Poems such as Seasons of Discord, Cross Border Movements, Capital Punishment, The Promised Land, My Husband’s Killer. Even before reading them, you sense that this will not be a decorative collection.
And yet, alongside these global themes, there are intimate poems like Only Yesterday, A Dying Moment, Silenced. In Only Yesterday, the poet recounts holding her husband as he gasps for breath, searching for rain clouds that never come. That poem in particular stayed with me. There is something painfully real about the line describing the battle being over in an hour and a half. No grand metaphors. Just blunt loss.
The title poem appears toward the middle of the book. In The Journey Closes, she writes, “I am still the boatman who will ferry you”. That line feels central to the entire collection. The ferry is not only physical. It is emotional. It is the act of carrying memory across time.
What Stood Out To Me
First, the courage of scale.
It is not easy to place your personal grief alongside the Russia Ukraine war, refugee camps, genocide, or state violence. Some poets choose one sphere. Khasnabis attempts both. In Cross Border Movements and In the name of Freedom, she paints stark images of people leaping over barbed wires and counting dead bodies. These poems feel almost journalistic in their urgency.
Then suddenly you enter The Body Remembers, where she speaks of a five hour surgery, of the lower abdomen split open, of motherhood and physical memory. The body becomes archive. The body refuses to forget.
I have read enough contemporary poetry to know that many writers struggle to transition between the public and the private. Here, the transitions are abrupt at times. But I think that is intentional. War outside. War inside. The world does not pause because you are grieving.
Second, the recurring presence of the husband.
Poems like Silenced, My Husband’s Killer, Only Yesterday are raw. In Silenced, she speaks of keeping naphthalene balls with his sweater and preparing foods he loved. That domestic detail broke me a little. Grief is often not dramatic. It is in small habits that refuse to die.
In My Husband’s Killer, the imagery becomes almost symbolic. The killer is not only a person. It feels like fate, violence, accident, even history itself. The poem blends personal loss with a larger commentary on patriotism and indifference.
Third, her voice.
Bhaswati Khasnabis writes in direct, declarative sentences. There is repetition. There are strong nouns. Gun. Knife. Blood. River. Body. Son. Sometimes the metaphors are bold, even dramatic. Sometimes they are simple and literal.
If I am being completely honest, there are moments where the language could have been tightened. A few poems feel slightly extended, as though they are pouring out without restraint. But then I ask myself. Should grief be restrained? Should political outrage be polished? Maybe not.
The Emotional Core
For me, the emotional center of The Brown Man Ferries lies in the tension between helplessness and responsibility.
The poet repeatedly returns to justice. To nyay. To the idea that we cannot simply blame one another but must search for solutions. There is a desire to hold the world accountable.
And yet, in the poems about her husband, she is simply a woman sitting with memory. Waiting for the phone to ring. Watching her son grow. Trying to remember what was said in the final hours.
I kept thinking about the poem Did you hear them cry? where refugees gather by the seashore with tattered clothes and hunger swelling their bodies. That image mirrors her own personal shoreline. Washed Ashore opens the collection with the body beaten by waves. The sea appears again and again.
Maybe the ferry is also crossing grief.
In 2026, when news cycles numb us daily, poetry like this feels almost stubborn. It insists on feeling. It insists on not becoming mechanical. She says in the introduction that poetry creates ripples in a sea of indifference. I believe that is the mission of this book.
Who This Book Is For
If you are looking for light, romantic verse, this may not be the collection for you.
If you prefer highly experimental form with fragmented syntax, you may find the structure traditional.
But if you are someone who cares about the intersection of personal grief and global crisis, this book will speak to you. If you have experienced loss and also felt anger at the state of the world, you will recognize this voice.
Readers who appreciate poets like Kamala Das for their emotional candor, or those drawn to socially aware poetry, may find resonance here.
It is also for those who are not afraid of intensity. Because this book does not dilute its themes.
Final Thoughts
When I closed The Brown Man Ferries, I did not feel comforted. I felt sobered. And strangely, strengthened.
Bhaswati Khasnabis is not pretending that the world is improving. She is not pretending that grief disappears. Instead, she places both on the page and continues writing anyway.
There are minor uneven moments in pacing and language. But the sincerity overrides that. The emotional conviction carries the book.
Is it worth reading? Yes, if you are ready to sit with heavy truths.
Should you read The Brown Man Ferries? I think if you care about poetry that engages with our times and with personal loss, you should at least try a few poems.
For its courage, its honesty, and its refusal to look away, I would give it:
FAQs
Is The Brown Man Ferries worth reading?
If you are interested in poetry that addresses war, refugees, and personal bereavement with emotional honesty, yes.
What is The Brown Man Ferries about?
It is a poetry collection by Bhaswati Khasnabis that blends global conflict with intimate grief, especially surrounding the loss of her husband.
Who should read The Brown Man Ferries?
Readers who appreciate socially conscious poetry and emotionally direct writing.
Is this book very political?
It addresses politics and war openly, but always from a humanitarian perspective rather than partisan commentary.
With over 11 years of experience in the publishing industry, Priya Srivastava has become a trusted guide for hundreds of authors navigating the challenging path from manuscript to marketplace. As Editor-in-Chief of Deified Publications, she combines the precision of a publishing professional with the empathy of a mentor who truly understands the fears, hopes, and dreams of both first-time and seasoned writers.