Saraswati The Goddess Of Knowledge Poem by Hardik Vaidya

I now realize.
It hit me like a laden truck,
In full day light.
Whether bad, mad, brilliant or imbecile,
Poets are Lord Shiva,
All born with a third eye.
For the young shanks,
Who don't read my rotten rant,
We are born with an extra pole,
An ugly transmitter sticking out,
To catch the very known,
Yet unknown.
We are postmen,
We don't create,
We live in an illusion that we generate.
She comes to us Saraswati,
To the pious as a godess,
To feinds like me as a damsel,
She sermons to the holy,
She whispers to those like me unholy,
And we write,
We transmit,
We do not publish,
We only have copy rights,
Because we just copy.
I know understand,
Why Vamiki the sage,
Could write.