Pulakkumar Ditti (17/07/1955 / Midnapur)
Poetry That Is Exclusively Mine
My poetry is lost somewhere in
the din of selfish shouting;
bitten by greedy and spiteful
teeth of earthly craving.
I fumble hither and thither only
to get an immaculate skeleton.
The poetry, before it is made
of sensitive fibres of my inner self,
gets distorted and
dies of fright and attrition.
Now my poetry, the discordant
tunes of my soul, will
never stir the connoisseurs.
But it is mine, exclusively mine.
Will enshrine it for ever.
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