No, No, My Dear— I Am No Poet Poem by Mohammad Younus

No, no, my dear—
I am not a poet,
just a wanderer wrapped in words,
weaving stars from borrowed phrases,
a traveler breathing whispers of the unspoken.

I wear a poet's mask—
to shape thoughts into rivers of verse,
to carve ink into the bones of shadows.
I write not to fill pages,
but to free the quiet voice inside,
to name what hums in nerves and bones—
the soul's secret songs,
flames that slip through daylight's fingers.

I walk where paths vanish,
footsteps marking endless time,
lungs filled with silent starlight.
I climb where winds carry ancestors' songs,
where the sky's veil lifts
to show time's hidden code.
My hands brush comet paths,
my lips drink the sun's fire—
its heat lights the words I sing.

Inside me, the skies shift like continents,
rivers hum through tiny veins.
I hold love's heavy pull,
the hurt of truths left unsaid,
the first breath of the Divine—
pure, untouched,
before the world wove its web

MyKoul