Hamlet-Like, Self-Obsessed Poem by Daniel Trevelyn Joseph

While flipping, and clicking through my laptop,
I read Wet Grass a poem, idly
Wondering who wrote this nice poem?

Then it flashes in, that Monsoon day
Through my bed-room window
The heavy downpour, the pestle banging.

Not a bad poet, me; only memory is going:
Years after I am gone, will some Mahakashyapa
Smile mysteriously and bring them out in public?

Many poems gossamer-like float in mind or e-space,
Between heaven and earth, like arrant knaves,
Act mad, till the curtain goes up, and the play begins.