--Vivek NarayananI want to be sweet and clear and free, as half a lineof Auden, or an episode of the Powerpuff Girls;I want to be dew, and honest with mine,like Bob Marley, or Boesman the Boer.I want to swing and get it rightat the speed of Pollock’s light,I want to be deep like Zulu,tight like Tamil,and trust my sense of Sanskrit truewith little shame for its will.I want to dabble in the fieldsignorant of what I was doing,rub myself on the ruinswith a self-induced diseaseand gleefully lapsethe hope to be heard. I want to fixmy favourite English wordsinto the forty-fifth century—haw, for instance, or luminary—hiding them in a snatch of prose…passed over in silencelike Wittgenstein, no evidencefor myself or Laura Riding,like Bharathiyar going mad composing,I want to dissolve into our languageprinting too little for my age;I want to be obscure but not leaden,flippant if I feel like it, thenI don’t mind being called poetically shittyin a note from Manohar Shetty,writing into the time we’ve borrowed,singing from our utter boredom;I want to hold in me the heat of my combustionand leave this sweat-smear as a resurrection:I want to be sweet and clear and free,insouciant, insufferable, just like me.
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