The Poor Man
Today this poor man
Begs you once again,
For one more tragedy,
For the sake of his pen.
It has been an age
Since I have drunk of sorrow,
Stir tears into pain,
Make it twice as fierce.
This blank sheet of paper
Watches me silently,
A caravan of poems
Is lost in a desert of words.
I want to walk
With the ache of the thorn in my foot,
Whatever be the distance, my friend,
From sorrow to the grave.
Even pain has turned its back upon me.
Come back! says Prabh,
You have been my tale
For a long, long time!
Copyright © Prabhjeet Singh | Year Posted 2016
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