I do not attach much importance to the publication or non publication of my poetry and never have done. Most of it (the published part) appeared five, ten, fifteen or even thirty or more years after they were written. The few recently published in magazines (not all of them new, e.g. the sonnets) owed their fate to Nolini's eagerness and not to my initiative. But the vast bulk of what I have written (long poems mostly) lies on shelf and in drawer, most of it for more than a decade, awaiting either dissolution or an interminable revision or total recasting which at the present rate may well retain them there a decade or two more. But that is my own idiosyncrasy—it cannot be a rule or example for others.
He said, "I am egoless, spiritual, free," Then swore because his dinner was not ready. I asked him why. He said, "It is not me, But the belly's hungry god who gets unsteady."
I asked him why. He said, "It is his play. I am unmoved within, desireless, pure. I care not what may happen day by day." I questioned him, "Are you so very sure?"
He answered, "I can understand your doubt. But to be free is all. It does not matter How you may kick and howl and rage and shout, Making a row over your daily platter.
To be aware of self is liberty. Self I have got and, having self, am free."
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