Closing this dark and beautiful chapter. Letters upon letters of ideals and thoughts and feelings… all purged by ink inside these poor leaflets…done revisited, processed, extracted… observed, absorbed….wept, kept, learnt and finally locked away….my most vulnerable selves, in the most confused moments… It is the processing which allows me to come out with a little more clarity and sensibility. I see now, poetry, how it frees me….grows with me, evolves me …
I’ve come out with the idea that the position of a poet is not a writer of poems, but a huntsman of poetry, hunting within the soul of his world and hearts of friends; he yields his life to this stirring and is elated in the pursuit…
I have hopelessly attempted to build myself …to be a beast whose affinity lies with nature, strong in heart and kind in soul; and to be a machine, adept in overriding corruption in the mindspace with reason and ideal. The coming journeys will test this founded system…new beginnings.
from archive… keep a simple outlook and do the simple things well
