Indifference of a Poet Forlorn

Digging the silence of the night... Just for a heap of words... Toiling in the middle of the night... Not expecting any lavish rewards...! Squeezing emotions...translating thoughts... He writes the stories of his heart unend; & creates wonder like earthen pots... Alone without a dear or a friend ! As the only reward for his sleeplessness... People castigate his style of living... Critics bark in their usual business... As though he is an useless thing...! He never wants the world to read... His painful plots of heart rending grief... & how his heart is made to bleed... Or how he is destined to weep...! Hmm...But the civilized class...that has no time... Finds time to dig the beauty of the art... Looking for loopholes in words sublime... Viciously stabbing the poet's heart! But still the genius doesn't mind.. He is indifferent & uncomplaining... Smiling at the assassins unkind... As if he is purely detached...from each & every mundane thing...