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Poets' Dilemma
Poets' Dilemma

Writing poems sometimes

I feel is a waste of time,

Makes me feel silly,

and at times fine.

At any rate, not a penny’s worth,

 satisfaction, a million births.

yet poets aren’t the ones

 who weigh, pros and cons.

They flow with the current,

And stop at their own points.

People watch them with awe

 On banks of greener lands,

Tributaries do distract them

But the flow never stops and

they return to the same point.

There have been times when I was troubled by these outflow of picturesque thoughts, that I got up in the wee hours  to pen down the uninterrupted flow of thoughts, once penned down the satisfaction I have felt was worth a million. A poem is a condensed form of life; a poet's perception. It is an urge to capture the colour of life in its true form. A responsibility to record the now and the present, once the work done, its left alone. The thoughts gush out in a single flow, filled with life and fragrance, transforming the being, once penned down, it drains the self and leaves the soul in peace. Its a fascination towards life and words entwined, inseparable, winding on and off, never leaving , always returning , at times unexpecte.