I am not a real poet,
I did not get any award nor pension;
But lost in my own fantasy,
Ignorant of mine own pain,
Given by cruel time
And treacherous age.
I am not a real poet,
But presenting the highest verse,
But sacrificed the bond with best half,
And the bliss of youth,
Got grey hairs and cracking bones.
But still no award for me.
I am not a real poet,
As I have no award to return,
Nor any wealth to preserve.
I am not in the company of,
Chest beating secular tolerant,
And slogan mongering troops.
I cannot defame nation of intolerant,
I am not a member of candle gang,
I am not a part of paid and fixed media,
But served the nation and people;
By my honest and humanist pen,
But still I am not a poet.
I am not a real poet,
As I have no dirty beard but kept carefully,
Nor have I any jhola to show my red identity,
I own no NGO to fake service,
Still I am not a real poet,
Still I have no award to return,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem