A Poet Who Never Was - Poem by Akshat Shukla
Words were falling from the ceilings
His pen stifled a clause of feelings
The pale paper tore itself apart
The poet was an emotional retard.
Emotions ran amok on his head
He wrote till he was declared dead.
His bookshelf contained no book
He did laundry and learned to cook.
His first poem was an extravaganza:
A potpourri of strain and a plain stanza.
Then he wrote of his lost child
And all the critics drove him wild.
Once he jumped off a moving train
And found a theme of cacophony and pain.
His wife called him an effiminate
He lived in a house without a nameplate.
His epitaph read 'Always Alive'
He never lived tho' was fifty five.
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