Poem is a dead body now,
Dragging and pulling by foxes,
Rotting in the dustbin of reality,
Now a days poem has been lifeless.
Poet has been a great cemetery,
Funeral pyre is burning in his heart,
Lot of words are burning there,
Unpenned poems are flying as ash.
The poem and his poet,
Has been a fairy tale today,
Has been a black and white photo in the frame.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I think that was alive poem weeping a dead poem..creative one