the poet
is in a thoughtful mood today,
well
he is thoughtful always
but a little more today,
he is thinking about his writings,
does he understands what he writes,
or he just scribbles whatever comes in mind,
and then everything takes a form,
and there within comes out a new meaning.
but
that is not what he wanted to write,
sometimes a idea comes from within
and he starts writing,
jargons he seldom use
his poetry is for commoners,
not difficult to understand,
but commoners hardly read him,
they have better things to do.
the critics
well they are never in love with him,
after all he misses the rhyming scheme,
no, rhetoric words,
sometimes not even meledious,
sometimes they even lack a flow,
yet
the poet writes.
he knows
he has few readers,
sometimes nobody at all,
publishers has already turned their nose,
they look for a poet
who speaks well,
not somebody like him.
the poet
has no friends,
for they find him boring
he
is not frustated,
he will write on,
for thats the way he speaks his heart,
he is a common man after all.
today the poet is in a
thoughtful mood
may be he has something to share,
on the table lies
a pen
but there isn't a piece paper anywhere...
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