The Poet

A poet is a minute caricature, A self made kinesthetic person. Whilst poetry a long journey To be traveled all alone & all along. The journey with him is not that ease To bear his silence and to handle his angst With chaotic emotions & compressed expressions On the track of observatory …… poetry. It’s not his embedded nature; Habituated self; or his own version, Whilst not exactly a translator of one’s mind, Nor the residue of his life’s dust. I’m unable to capture his moods With my pictorial poetry and Monitor his moody mindset With the wavelength of my verses. At times I feel I’m just a freelancer Picking up points, of what all the poet speaks On the whole- even when, he whispers He makes it gleam & I just try to jot it down. At times HE is ME and many times I’m..Him I’m a confused BIT to know –the whole thing.