Bonfide

Bonafide I am the poet The sinner The ardent lover Whose words remain unheard Mourned silently, whimpered alone Died unnoticed Never reborn I am the poet The mad The raving Who jotted down the feelings, Desires and the notions Not for the known or unknown But for the bruised self I am the poet The soulful The aching With sorrowful eyes Who never slept peacefully Was awake in the infinite hours Waiting for the anonymous I am the poet The silent The desperate Embraced the elapsed moments or fantasies Whose silent wept are the loudest cry And memories, the precious belonging Love, the triumph ever I am the poet The forsaken, The lonely soul Ignored by the loved ones Betrayed by the callous Aloof to the belated apologies And waited for the lost harmonies I am the poet The loser, The unknown The toy of the destiny The unwanted, the forgotten soul, Wandering, in search of the secrets Quest for the lost paragons I am the poet The real, The genuine Neither judged Nor disregarded any Want to be loved with passion And be unique in my own way I am the poet The creator The dreamer With novel impressions Pall-bearer of rare emotions Waiting for the miracle To bring back the lost ecstasies I am the poet The curious, The zealous With strange yens To explore the uncertainties, The extremes of the world And the truth beyond my existence