Poetry Is Too Shrewd Poem by Muhammad Shanazar

Poetry is too shrewd,
She in guise herself keeps hiding,
From my too watchful eyes;
When I plough the farm of others,
She dives into the ocean of my belly,
And swims like a fishing monster.
When I return home after toilsome labour,
She sits on my hanging loathsome arms,
And when in the sterile fruitless land,
My eyes meet indifference,
And they remain bewilderingly forlorn,
She assumes the soothing form of a damsel,
And strolls into the world of my dreams,
When ferocious enemies search me again,
Allege me of stealing the gold of poetry,
At that moment she resides in my heart,
Wearing the costume of fear.