Poets are like poets
possessed by a crony muse
can not but write things
that come crowding themselves
and ruffle the cranky chords ;
after the bout of a throw-up
and a relief for a while
pregnant mind goes convulsive
eager for the awaited delivery :
secluded in the crowded world
the feverish entities find the
expressive mouth even for gibberish .
though blessed with unique bliss
undergo the torment of tangled thoughts .
the self-centered , self-cocooned existence
consumes the limited share of elixir ;
tightly occupied poor selves relish
the gasping breaths and the benediction.
proud and happy in this plight
with the antidote against the blight
of the huge run of the mill --------
