Poet Poem by Susmit Panda

I saw, the little boy, thin and lean,
Full-viewed, yet unseen,
Writing forth his lonely thoughts in rhyme
Couched on his chair every time;
Tears would sometimes be seen on his face,
Or he'd laugh with cheery grace;
Between his fingers his pen, I saw, was set -
I said, "He - he is a poet; "

I see, but tonight what - what I see,
The moon's burning brightly,
Her beams have wrapped him ‘round in fetters,
Though he still has letters;
His lids are painful; he couldn't tilt to fight,
These are shackles of Light!
Bonded, bound by silver serpents of fret -
I corrected, "He is no poet! "