Thursday, July 5, 2012


The world should give the poet

A desert burning in himself

A snow bank chilling in himself

An ocean filling in himself

A mountain standing on himself

A plain spreading within

A seed sprouting within

And blooming plants

And fruitful trees

And blossoming flowers

And a shelter to stay in

A cave, a forest, a village, a city

And a sky to fly to

Full of clusters of stars


A great universe of his own

And a drop of tear

A sigh

A smile that nobody else will note

A slice of sorrow

A piece of happiness

Above all else

The world should give the poet

A moment purely his own

Belonging to him

A moment of sacrifice

And introspection

A lone moment

A moment alone

Then, an arecanut cutter

A beetle case

And three measures of tales

Raining from a toothless mouth

That has lost rhyme and time

The poet wants survival

In the bondage of tragedies

Yeah! Tragedies make poetry

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