Everything Here
My sense of identity is that of an observer making sense of scenery that presents itself. More like a camera capturing what is presented as it interprets the images into photos. But I must admit that even as lenses get blurry.
Initially, poetry was just another subject in school, words strung together, one after the other. As a child, my mind was more focused on the empty cans waiting to be filled with sand or crushing biscuits into paste to bake into cake. I don’t know where the concept of time immemorial fits into the corners of my memory, but words have always lived somewhere in my heart. I just didn’t know exactly where, so I never bothered to visit.
