misunderstanding

19.02.2026

S: The poet is raised on poetry. And this world is raised on prose. All there will be is misunderstanding.

A: You say that? But you write. You write incessantly. If you did not believe that there would be one that understood, why would you write?

S: Can you not write knowing full well that you will be misunderstood?

A: It seems pointless.

S: What is of point in this life? The average person in this culture is working to make even more money for the rich. What could be more pointless than that?

A: You believe that you have a destiny though.

S: My destiny is to have been born amongst those that cannot and will not understand.

A: Make them understand.

S: You cannot give intelligence to stupidity and ignorance. You cannot talk to those that will not listen. Arrogance makes them impenetrable.

A: Why then write?

S: The truth is the truth. My truth. I am the truth. I am my truth. The truth will out.

A: Why become Sisyphus?

S: All there is is Sisyphus. There is no one else. And, do you know what? This has been the problem of the writer in every age. The true writer, the writer that is true. They are centuries ahead of their time. Because common sense is common stupidity. The herd think in ignorance. They are cheap thoughts. Not worthy of men. They cannot catch up with the real men, the real writer. If the real writer is saved from the ravages of time, then men look at them and think that this was a real man in the midst of the herd. They say that these men were ahead of their time.

A: You are so egotistical it is unbelievable. You worship yourself.

S: I know my place in the world of thought. I am a genius. I am what has come through six thousand years and more of Indian civilisation.

A: Even Indian people do not agree with you.

S: There are few that can agree with a genius. They are not on the same level.

A: Remain the poet. And remain incomprehensible.

S:

I baked this strange letter in the oven

the fragrance was indescribable

the taste was beyond words

each that held the letter

they were confounded by the cook

each bite that they took

made the letter more and more illegible

they ate reluctantly

it was all gone

the letter was dead

and they turned instead

to a more familiar dessert