My Poet Friend Poem by Anil Kumar Panda
My Poet Friend
He does not care to wash his face
And his hair is a nest of the sparrow
He eats or remain hungry does not matter
He smiles even when in deep sorrow
He does not sleep or remain awake
He does not care for today or tomorrow
He combs his long beards once in a day
If he does not have money he does not borrow
That was how my poet friend lived and died
No one came to his grave and no one felt sad
Your very sad poem reminds me of some artiste friends. Some have died. Some are dying. Some wish to die. And one lives in a storage locker. His treasured books keeping him company. Your outstanding poem brilliantly sums up the life of some artistes.
artistic life is absolutely different from others; nice to read your poem
Life of artiste is like that. He is neither sad nor happy. He mourns none and none morns his demise. Great poem. Top score
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/5/2024 10:23:56 AM # 1.0.0.1119
really? It is a good bio poem