Not As An Art Poem by Mehta Hasmukh Amathaal

It may not considered as an art
It may not find suitable mart
Yet it is feeling that every human being may have
When in trouble the way may pave

It has lost no charm
Every word is useful without any harm
What do we need in our hostile mind?
A little rest and nice place to find

Who has time for all natural phenomena?
When everything is seen or available in cinema
Now that too has vanished or disappeared
Who will care and think about is feared?

No one wants to hear morning cuckoo
Life is rapidly moving and is very true
We want cooking gas from earth and high rise buildings
Earth is giving away and threatens imminent endings

I helplessly look at the sky and grave
I can’t live in isolation and be brave
I know the future generation may not have time
What will they do when natural sources depletes sometimes?

No one may hear my painted parrot’s voice
They would think it unnecessary noise
I have nothing to air and invite the wrath
Being poet means a shot sure death

I may be laughed at silly creations
It may have only imaginary revelations
Some nice words placed in inverted coma
I can not expect it high staged drama