I do not understand <br />as to why the people <br />are weeping, <br />crying, <br />mourning <br />and <br />to exhibit their sympathy <br />to match <br />or exceed with the compassion <br />of other in the same pursuit, <br />shedding the tears <br />for a poet <br />who died <br />writing poems <br />on everything <br />which even <br />the sun could not see <br />or imagine, <br />but could not <br />spell a few words <br />for whom <br />he lived, <br />he tried everything possible, <br />everything impossible <br />by making it possible, <br />and died <br />and <br />before the last collapse <br />entered the endevour <br />of writing poetry <br />on the walls of solitude <br />and confinement <br />leaving behind <br />the belief that <br />he might write <br />something <br />on his own epitaph <br />once everyone <br />pays the final tribute <br />and leaves the graveyard, <br />to show her that <br />he can write his own elegy, <br />an elegy of a poet <br />by the poet.<br /><br />Sandesh Shinde<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/elegy-of-a-poet/
