“We need to examine you my friend”, the doctor goes. I hear that you developed an incessant desire for poetry and have completely neglected the old art – the art of prose which you should have practiced. How can you betray the old art of Dostoevsky and Garcia? Very rarely you write and now they bring me here to help you see the reasons and put some corrective measures.
So what will you say to these charges and these symptoms?
Sir, I avoid writing prose as each sentence and thought stitched together wants to be turned into a poem; it wants to dance rather than to walk and with this I turn towards the poem as it brings me home to those characters and myself ….some created inside and some from the outside world. I do not write poems out of avoidance but as addiction.It is not me you need to caution but these words, and its rhythms, the fine subliminal balance, as they stand on these tight ropes of emotion and its existence. I avoid having to make comments or speak, as every time I open up, I hear those words, rebelling against me. I hear them say to serve them. Hence, my friend, it is these reasons that I don’t practice this art of prose and its mechanics. So guilty I am and may be with passage of time this illness and its impact will wear itself off and perhaps then……But for now, let me remain true to this addiction, good or bad, as I know now no other way. This is all I can add to my defense and I hope you understand that it is perhaps the best way to go forward.
Upon hearing me, the doctor smiles and then opens up the window. Let’s go and watch ballet tonight, as there is new show opening up in town called “of embroidery and emotion”. With this, I leapt as it had been a long time since I last went to see the ballet.