G. S. Shivarudrappa
A sage of essences
From the innards of my heart, did I sing that day.
With such intent attention, had you heard what I did say.
If I am to sing again now, grant me an audience,
lend me an ear, that prize, I covet the most.
Won’t a song bird still sing, whether or not an award it might bring?
Now, that I want to be heard, is not why I sing
Inevitably mine is my fate, endlessly to sing.