The Poet

With a thought in mind, a brain bubbling in thought; a brain storm, a short circuit, an eye gazing at everything. With a pen in hand, and a vein jerks out of hand, an ear on the ground, railing out roaming words. With a gather of figures, a fact strolls in heart, connecting fingers to pen, putting pen to paper, a poet writes his heart. A poet writes his society. A poet writes his fantasy. His fictions; his love, he writes. He sees beyond his imaginations, and writes beyond his scope. A poet proposes prose for prospect. A poet, a pen full of points, writes in sleeps. Writes on stones; writes of evil, and writes on everything. A poet, a pen pulling past plans. Before a poet pants, he plans. Before he plans he ponders. When a poet ponders, he pulls, pulling pen to the trigger, corking pen to pen down events. As history re-emerges; events emerges; submerging traitors of history, submerging traitors of our time, submerging traitors of season. A poet with his poetic regalia, donning his poetic gown. With his poetic shield of history, With his poetic armor, throws a poetic spare to the enemies of history.