This world is mean minded
Its people are self centered!
Just with a few strokes of brush they apply glowing touch to others portrait.
And present the painting as their own.
And they keep on adding feathers of appreciation on their cap.
Whom I should praise?
The poet or the presenter?
The poet who wrote the poems with his own blood
With his own breathe!
It was not just the ink he used in pen, it was his blood
He wound his heart to fill the pen with blood
How should I praise the poet who wrote poems behind the curtain
Who never made any appearances before the world
Thunders of clapping did appreciate his work
To the one who recited his poems
But not the poet!
This is the world
These are its people.
Our own world and our own people!
From far here, this world is so beautiful
But from near I hear the fake coins jingling in my silence heart!
©ALL RIGHTS RESERVED BY GEETHA JAYAKUMAR 2014
© 2014.
Geetha Jayakumar.
Note. Plagiarism
As long as we are true to ourselves we can hold our head up high and our souls will be nourished! Powerful and beautiful write! Thank you so much for your lovely comments and congrats on my poem 'The Essence Is You'
this is the way of the world.To praise one who doesn't deserve. Geetha, you can say very tough thing in a simple way.I love your style.
It is a mean way to hog the limelight but momentarily. Truth is bound to come out some day or the other. A very meaningful poem.
I do realise your pain. Only a poet or the God can realise the pains of a poet. Song is another form of poetry. All are listening with thunders of clapping to the singer to the music director n faces on the screen. But rare the person who thinks about the creator who assembled the bricks of word after choosing from profound ocean of dictionary of sense and humour and going through lot of feeling. I have tried to express in my short poem THE PAINS OF A POET. Certainly, you are pained much to listen about abducting of my poem THE CURSE OF POVERTY. Now the poem has been removed from the page of abductor.Certainly that boy has the ambition to be known as a poet. In reply of message to the editor of PH I have mentioned to convince him at his own level and wished him to see as a great poet. Thank you so much to all fellow poets for their kind support and co-operation. Heartiest thanks for sharing this poem with us. If you plz permit i will share this poem with twitter and face book.REGARDS.
A wonderful and thought provoking poem, Geetha. Thank you for sharing Peace
t was not just the ink he used in pen, it was his blood He wound his heart to fill the pen with blood How should I praise the poet who wrote poems behind the curtain Who never made any appearances before the world Thunders of clapping did appreciate his work To the one who recited his poems But not the poet! Very true mam, this happens mostly in writing field, when the whole hearted work of someone is taken over by someone powerful, attributing as theirs. Awesome write mam...Thanks for sharing mam.
great poem.........a pain of a poet clearly reflected in this poem..............i can state this as your best poem as it is extremely poignant and heart-touching........a poet is the saddest person as he scatters the seeds of joy all o'er the world but remains unasked sometimes........only appreciations serve as his only support in his life.......outstanding imaginations......with outstanding lines........greatly enjoyed it.........thanks for sharing it.
By nature man is not honest to the extent he is expected to be. We are at times like fake coins and our value is fixed by the unsuspecting taker of our identities. Your poem throws light on the predicament of a time when our smile begins not from the heart as it used to be but it begins and ends on the very mouth. A dog wags its tail even today like its predecessor did a million years ago... But the man wears a fancy dress here. A beautiful poem, Geetha and I am giving 10 for this write.
This is the world, there are its people, wonderful expression in this poem Fake coins. Excellent work from pen.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
One must be happy poets/poetess' are the Alarm watch for reminder...A nice job is done or being done for the humanity...thank u