At First Poem by Azitej Anand

     Sense seems to touch my bleeding soul;        
  When someone calculates my words:
           When it comes on questions:
                'How much it pays you? '
  I squeeze my lips with piercing sword!

       '  Have you written it by yourself? '
The suspecting literate eyes,
Of the higher world;
           Exclaims my art at  lower brisk;
At there, I squeeze my heart with repentance tie.

                    'Oh! A writer;

            One, who lives in fantasy;
            One, who never tastes fact!
        Who always lives in ecstasy;
                 I squeeze my eyes!
Have you got anything from this stuff?
          As being of 24 years;
      Not earn a penny with your art
In such a way they inject in my blood  
                    the future fear'

Hard voice of business realm
             mocks at me;
 Literate one scans my mind
 And comments  'Its not your creation, a vague,
  you are too small to write'
Such dialogues  imparted on me.
 
      I squeeze my head and my hair;
     Echo of such sound
    Piercing,
Oh! piercing
          my heart, poetic layer.

At there:
I wept lot,
I wept,
I wept there a lot...


My soul traps and got squeezed;
My heart there bursts!
I lose my all senses; And, wants to be free.

At the end voice suffuses:
' Oh! Writers
They all are a veil
A veil of imaginative mirror,
All the miniature in my funeral grabs fear'

They Said..
They plead..
 Oh Lord!
 'Soothe his soul and brain wash all his poetic words! '


 Poetic and create World never ends.
In future there will be Shakespeare,
There will be Keats:
Although, I Will not there
  But such an art never beats.