Why do many poets today revel in adversity?
Painting pictures so dark, gloomy and blue,
Why do they forget that many want to be happy,
And yearn for poetry of a more colourful hue?
Is it because to be morose is in vogue,
And rueful metaphors must rule the stage,
Should I be banished, branded as a rogue,
Merely because I shun sadness like the plague?
Since there is already enough sorrow in this world,
Using creativity to stoke this fire can certainly be a vice,
Lying in bed, I read such poetry, in sorrow curled,
Crying hot tears that immediately turn into ice.
What virtue is there in such pedantic rhyme?
Big words juxtaposed in faux literary glamour,
Where death, murder, unrequited love and crime,
Rub shoulders with mental agony and clamour.
Where is old poetry that seemed to traipse along,
In merriment happily savouring the joys of life,
Dancing gaily in green meadows, a rhythmic song,
Bringing pleasure and happiness in times of strife.
We must bring them back again in poetic rhyme,
Eschewing sorrow delighting the reader once more,
Writing happy poetry that goes back in time,
Like the nursery rhymes written centuries ago.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
true........a poetry must be a line dip in honey of love and joy..............