Meeting and living,
Living and greeting,
Greeting and writing,
Writing poems for them,
Great things here.
And the poets are
Doing all without
Any expectation
From any one at any time.
And one who expects
Is not a poet, but
A business man sucking
Blood of others
For self-interest.
So far my knowledge goes,
The poet has no self-interest,
Even the true poet
Goes to the extent and say
Let my life go to hell,
And allowed all to enter heaven.
Movement of writing poems
Is nothing but the music,
Music of nectar,
Only here on this earth
In all atmosphere.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem