Hardik Vaidya

(26 Dec 1969, yet to kick the bucket. / Mahuva, Gujarat, India.)

To those who write less


Some write less,
They think, polish, reset and test,
Finally when the soup just seems right,
It meets the salt lacking since time infinite,
They share their taste for others to lick up and amaze.
Some like me,
Write in the moment,
Perhaps the tree has just fallen,
It will take time for peat to form,
For peat to turn into coal in the earths warmth,
Then the pressure of her love, will kiss it into a Kohinoor,
For a miner to find and adorn it on a crown.
It does not matter who wrote,
What matters is you wrote.
Do not worry,
Life is a mystery,
Let your pen be free,
That is the only requisite for poetry.

Submitted: Sunday, February 17, 2013

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