The Hindu: My father’s diary reads ‘like a poem’

My father had been reading the writings of a German poet called Johann Sebastian Bach in his diary since the 1960s.

He wrote about his love of the Romantic poets like Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert and Beethovin and his admiration for the modernist composers such as the composer Jean Paul Sartre, the novelist Fyodor Dostoevsky and the American painter Charles Baudelaire.

My father had wanted to write about his life, about his childhood, but he didn’t want to be known as a poet.

He had no one to speak for him, and the writing was only a way of communicating with his father.

So I took up the task, and I found it a difficult one, even for the poet.

The first part of the diary is about my father’s childhood, and how I was a “lackluster” child.

I was always in trouble with the police and the courts, he wrote, and he had to take his father to court, where he was convicted of theft and sentenced to 12 months in prison.

I also had to attend the public school of our home town, and at one point, my father was arrested and beaten.

After a few months in jail, my mother moved me to a school in another town for children with intellectual disabilities.

At that time, my sister was in a coma and unable to care for herself.

My mother was also in prison, and she was not well.

My father was not at home.

I did not know what to expect, so I decided to study music.

I read Bach’s writings and eventually, I started studying at a university in Frankfurt.

In that year, I was also awarded the prize for literature, the German Poetry Prize.

When I was 20, I left my studies and joined the music ministry.

At the same time, I found my first writing partner in a friend, who was also studying.

I had to write poems about the people around me.

My work was written in a single day.

I felt like a poet who had just been born, but I had already lived a life that was unique in its complexity.

The other part of my diary is a reflection on the experiences of my father and his family.

My dad’s mother was a very strict and strict person, and when he was in prison I felt that she was always angry.

I never knew how she felt.

But I felt she was also angry, and her anger was directed towards the police.

So, I did not want to write poetry, but, instead, I studied the music of the cellars.

I tried to understand her feelings, and then I began to write my poems.

At one point I was given a new cell in a cell block in the basement of a building that housed the court.

In my poem I was writing about my mother and the prison guards.

My poem also included the phrase, “This was a dream.”

I felt so proud that my poems could touch the heart of the court, but that I had not made them up.

The third part of his diary is autobiographical, and tells the story of my own father’s illness and death in prison in 1976.

The diary was written while he was still in prison and the police kept a watch on him and his mother.

In one of the poems, I wrote about my dad’s condition, and about how he did not feel well.

I started writing poetry after my mother died, and later, I began writing poems about my own life.

I thought about my family members and friends, and in my poems, it was a way to express my feelings.

I wanted to express the feelings of my family.

I was really scared that my father would become a martyr, because I had never been an atheist, but then, I came to realize that there was nothing I could do to prevent my father from becoming a martyr.

I decided that I would give my father the best life possible and, I would also give my mother the best of it.

I took out the bank account that had been in my father`s name, so that my mother could give her money to my father.

I also wanted to get my father back in touch with his art, because the paintings that he had painted were very beautiful, but my father had no money for art and he was too depressed to make art.

I needed to write something that would be meaningful to him, something that could help him feel better.

I had no idea what to do.

I didn’t know what kind of person I would become, and there was no one I could tell that I loved him.

I think my father felt so alone and so alone, that he couldn’t understand why he didn`t get the love and affection that he so desperately needed.

He said, “Why don`t you go to heaven?”

I said,”I will go