If Poetry is ‘right words in right place, ’
Blank verse is not the best of Poetry!
It has a rhythmless/ meterless pace;
Where is the passion, art and beauty?
In construction, ’tis simulating prose;
Rhymeless, it has no music and is mute;
Just images, ’tis unscented a rose!
Without melody is it called a lute?
Where are the logic and the argument?
’Tis a train run on a meterless gauge!
Where is the moral? Where is the accent?
‘Vers libre’ is a parrot in a cage!
It fades like any other ‘mod’ fashion;
’Tis not holistic art but a fraction!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem