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Poem

Over the boundary inside this continent
There lived a poet where our holy lands meet
I did not see her picture yet I am led to imagine
By reading out her lovely executed poems
That she must be very smart and unbelievably cute
She has a knack to do a postmortem upon the poems
Written by others by cutting and tearing apart
And leaves a bulky comment like a person very erudite
I believe I can also bisect trisect a poem easily
And bring its intrinsic beauty inside out
But I told her not to do that anymore in a voice very polite
For doing so she would be a poet friend commentator
Or a respected critique or a reputed doctor
But if she writes fewer poems she will never be famous poet.
My advice, I know, always bear fruits
And out of it others gain enormous benefit
But it comes back like a boomerang
And bellow the hit me very hard
And it is not for the first time that this happens like this way
Many times I experienced like this and run in losses
Yet I advise friends even after cutting my nose
This is my kind heart-ed nature and habits
And keep doing this spreading milk of good will and generosity
She sensed it as she is too intelligent
And quickly hid somewhere
I launch a thorough search
In shrubs, herbs and bushes
yet I do not know her whereabouts
She must be a flower now
Bud she was when we met in summer,
Now it is spring
So I suppose somewhere
For someone else she remains lying bloomed

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