After having signed, I thinking within myself,
What sort of artist am I,
How have I been gifted with
And my signature signed in many ways
To be showcased
As for the art gallery and visitors
But the lukewarm response I too am not getting
For my art,
Just thinking within that I am an artist
And I do have talent in me
Rather than this there is nothing to acclaim
Or hold in admiration
Just my self-satisfaction, my self-elation
As for feeling satisfied,
Art for my sake
But sometimes I feel disgusted in verifying
When someone comes to me and asks,
If that was my signature
And at that time I scratch my head and think,
What have I done,
In being an artist
If not a world-class artist, definitely an artist of own stature,
It does not mean that all will be world class
And the other thing is this
Which it has to be recognized, gets not,
There are a few to promote and popularize
Where the talent lies in
In this world of mundane values, real talent goes not recognized,
Talent it is rarer and precious,
Priceless and indescribable!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem