Poetry and Other Arts
I am not a dreamer
So my poems are not dreams
Nor they are my dances
As I am not a dancer
They are separate from me
Like paints from a painter
I wish not my poetry should die
Along with me when I end up
Or vanish like dances
As soon as the dancer stops
Or break like dreams
In the moment the dreamer awakes
But wish to leave them behind
As my legacy in original form
As fresh as the morning sun,
Unlike the sound of a song
Long before recorded
And artificially kept alive
To play long after
Sung by the musicians.
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