On keeping a diary


I had kept diaries, were
Now lined up on a bookshelf;
Close to my bed.
The things seemed floating before my eyes
Soft thoughts thronged my mind,
And speech left me; when
I took my half a century record
Where I could reinvent life day by day
The means of transformation, of things
That happened to me.
I spoke of things that interested me
I conversed with myself, where
Others couldn’t overhear me.
My chum accountant, kept an account of whatever;
I saw and did, and suffered and longed for.
It whispered, I could put myself back
Into that moment and persons; I was just then.
I could familiarize myself with events that I, as a person,
Had forgotten, but that would always be there in my diaries.
It told me that who I was and who I am.
I’m, be myself.

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