Birth And Death Of A Poet - Poem by Sanjukta Nag
Remembering the day,
I sent you a love poem of your favorite poet
With a pleasant expectation
Of making our love story more romantic.
But I was rewarded
By an unsweetened frown!
You said angrily,
“Don’t ever forward me a borrowed love script,
If you desire to send me a poem
Then first compose one with your own words.”
That was the beginning.
And from that phenomenal moment,
Every day I used to write
A poem for you,
On the paper of my love
With the ink of your inspiration.
Though time shows,
I’m not fortunate enough.
As on one rainy day
The ink of your inspiration was over,
So did our relationship.
Inspite of this,
I never have put my pen down
And I’m still penning the words of my heart.
A poet takes birth twice.
First, when he comes out of mother’s womb
Second, when he writes his first poem.
But my dear,
A poet dies once
Only when his body does.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You