I am an avid reader of poetry, and always dreamed of being a warrior poet philosopher like Lermontov. And Lo, my dreams are getting real. But my attempts at verse are worse, still it is a great pleasure to me as a I seek to write down my impressions and expressions.
A major theme of my life, is my love for a fellow man, and I would celebrate that love, and the fate that transformed it into an unrequited love. All the pain and sadness that resulted in, I enjoy and seek my pleasure, acting as my muse.
I have started my poetic adventure under the anthological title “He”, inspired by Walt Whitman and Lord Byron. And even if a single line stands on par with Calamus, which is highly unlikely and improbable, I would feel great. Could not ask anymore out of myself. In essence, the best of this is being dedicated to the man who inspired me and whom I love and will continue. And the rest of the chaff, is just my effort, like my vain effort at being with him.
Finally I resign to the fatalistic nature of universe and I seek the effort of writing a poem are the fruits of the efforts of writing the poem, and Loving him steadfast forever is the fruits of Loving him steadfast till eternity.