A poem
Woven with words
And few lines of length
For which daily I die,
And let my blood to be sucked
Like winks do to the oil of a lamp
For a poem
I daily sit
Same place, same time
Draw all the hells of my concentration
And keep going on meditating
As monks do
Without caring the attention of their surroundings
I take all the sufferings and pain
Willingly go through all kinds of hardship
For that poem only
If even for once,
By which I wish to blow your mind
Day after day
I stretch for that poem
With out pouring a drop of rain
By which I wish to drench you
Like every time probably I fail this time, too.
I agree with Heather, poetry may stress the mind but surely it eases and soothes the heart!
Dear Pet, as long as you write from the heart it will never fail. 10+
it's always win-win for a poet, so take heart poet, you can never fail.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wonderful is the word!