Poetry and Other Arts

I am not a dreamer So my poems are not dreams Nor they are my dances As I am not a dancer They are separate from me Like paints from a painter I wish not my poetry should die Along with me when I end up Or vanish like dances As soon as the dancer stops Or break like dreams In the moment the dreamer awakes But wish to leave them behind As my legacy in original form As fresh as the morning sun, Unlike the sound of a song Long before recorded And artificially kept alive To play long after Sung by the musicians.