PARTHA SARATHI PAUL
Poets are like poets
possessed by a crony muse
can not but write things
that come crowding themselves
and ruffle the cranky chords;
after the bout of a throw-up
and a relief for a while
pregnant mind goes convulsive
eager for the awaited delivery:
secluded in the crowded world
the feverish entities find the
expressive mouth even for gibberish.
though blessed with unique bliss
undergo the torment of tangled thoughts.
the self-centered, self-cocooned existence
consumes the limited share of elixir;
tightly occupied poor selves relish
the gasping breaths and the benediction.
proud and happy in this plight
with the antidote against the blight
of the huge run of the mill - - - -
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