Like wormwood these dreams <br />Sometimes you put them out in the sun <br />To soak and refresh <br />And then put them back in some damp corner again <br />Away from any usage. <br />You are the poet <br />You are the king of the damned <br />Depression <br />Grief and <br />Agony <br />Is what makes you <br />You play alone <br />Fighting for the for the losers glory. <br />Everyone shall leave you behind <br />Out to eat up the world they are <br />Some even with their part time rhythmetry <br />They try to devour <br />All the world in it's quarry. <br />As far as folk memories go <br />It all started with your poetry <br />You began the story <br />With your thoughts and symbols <br />That made word pottery. <br />And now here you are... <br />Alone in the corner of your damp old room <br />Away from the gaily lights and festivities <br />And all that togetherness aside, <br />Facing life's hostilities. <br />They're celebrating the celebrities <br />The copycats, the pure idiot's idiosyncrasy <br />Those who are mere parasites <br />Of your clamorous earnesty. <br />But yet the world must wait for you <br />The poet <br />The primordial rebel <br />To come and reclaim the throne <br />That to you it belongs truly. <br />Cut down on your self publishing expenses <br />Those books don't earn you a dime <br />All that sacrilege put aside <br />You could easily afford a three time meal, <br />Happily! <br />But proving wrong the idioms of the saints <br />You practice ‘dharma' in an empty stomach growling <br />You are the saint where all saints are folly <br />The original rebel <br />Indeed, dreaming suits the poet only. <br /><br />Deep Biswas<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-poet-113/
