The poet stands on a corner
And faithfully heralds his cry
About the issues of life.
He speaks of flowers in bloom,
Of rhythm and of tune.
He speaks of love, hate,
Unity and debate.
He speaks of laughter, tears,
And of war-torn years.
He speaks of children at play,
And the plight of a rainy day.
He speaks of husband, wife,
And the joys of everyday life:
A leaf falling, the butterfly,
The coming of spring
And birds that fly.
Once, when asked with a faint sigh:
Why write a poem about hell?
“I’m a poet, ” was my reply,
“And I write about everything,
That’s why.”
*From: Reflections of Life. 1997.
No genre is left untouched by poets, this is true. Great appraisal of us artists in a poem.
Only a poet has concern for everything and it's beautiful to read your view on poet!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A wonderful poem on poets, with an appropriate title. Loved it. I visited your page after reading your comment on my poem- 'A Poet's Heart' and randomly picked this poem of yours. Interestingly and perhaps coincidentally, there are many similarity of thoughts in both the poems. Perhaps because, poets think alike!