I am someone’s thought ,an identity from the coastal shelf to which I add my own bit of misery of being. My parents cornered me into my being and in the smallness of my hours I corner others into being.
They never asked me if I wanted to be. I never asked others if they wanted to be. The coastal shelf shall go on for ever.
My parents thought me into being. It was not their fault .That was how their thought was built .It was already there and considering what was already there, it mattered little how much they added. And then they were in receipt of it too , cornered into their being in the smallness of someone’s hours. Everyone gets cornered in the smallness of someone’s hours.
(taking off from Phillip Larkin’s poem This Be My Verse)