raw dawn

i am cynical and raw and my thoughts are big and precious and my own.
these words are mine and are for me.
the next blog will be the only one that will be dedicated to two people. the others will be dedicated to nothing and no-one but my own words, and the craving to get them out with the clickety click of furiously clacking keys. i know what happens to me everyday and i know the people i love and hate and why. i need to unearth all that i choose to keep silent, all that i dont reveal to myself.
fear, anger, passion, desire, rage, anger, jealously, cruelty, love.
all the emotions in the world, i want to taste them all and put it down in words. why write about mundane details of a unextraordinary life when i can write about this? it wont be abstract or bizarre or obscure. to me it will make more sense than anything else. they are coming from within me, from the secret rawness in comparison to the happy plastic of the past. PLASTIC. Paper is better than plastic. anything is better than plastic. no more plastic.
just reality, just virgin, naked thoughts.
Happy birthday Mappings.
 
"That was a younger self. I want to touch his shoulder, make him smile, show him how
each sorrow and failure that lacerates his heart can heal or numb itself
the limb-trapped hurt of love;
the search for what remains when we no longer animate the geography
of cell and sense, the unassuageable urge for ecastacy and knowledge; parting ; age.
 
A mockingbird begins a sunset song
patched from the passions of five birds. im wrong.
that was no younger counterpart but one
of a live clutch of egos. as i scan
my mappings of these selves – despondent, witty
calm and uncalm, lost in self-doubt or pity
the courtier, soldier, scholar – i check the pieces
all are still here, the old familiar faces
in one-to-one correspondence: words and moods.
 
The light has lapsed. I strip and swim towards
a wooden raft. the cool enveloping lake
merges with all i was and am.
my wake, the wine, my breathing, the recovering stars,
Venus, bright as a plane, Jupiter, Mars
My pulse, my vagrant selves, my poetry,
Seem here to inhere in a seamless me " , Mappings by Vikram Seth.
 
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