Just an ounce of that snakebite I took;
I feel better now -- I can write.
My thoughts are inking out,
oozing out of the dry heart with efforts,
Like an 'would-be' mother pushing her baby out.
A little ounce of that stuff --
That made my head turning gyroscopically
Making heaven and earth messy --
Like a top, spinning in indistinguishable colors.
Just a little ounce of that stuff --
That made me bold and write shamelessly.
Am I impulsive;
Am I a poet?
'Misconception', should I call it.
A poet is not grown out of the rubbish pile
Of impulsive words.
A poet is a civilization in itself;
An insightful glance into seeing what others miss out.
He/ she knows the science of writing
That dips down into the human hemisphere
Of raw ingredients, forming life and history.
Poetry is a diary of wisdom,
Rejects fantasy and reforms life.
So, I simply wish --I were a poet?