A poet for me is like a ripe fruit
Pungent and at times rancid
His core, a sweet breadfruit
You want to break open avid.
Taste the world he has in store
He is the queen in a chess game
Protecting a king of yore!
His moves are swift, self-same.
He too would relinquish all honour
Fame if, it served a better purpose
He doesn't care about his demeanour.
About pawns, all that matters,
Is the real meaning, behind the prose?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Rightly said a poet is like a ripe fruit, sweet and bitter taste of world stored in him, to taste you have to break it open avid........so nicely scripted........I loved it......Mark