Who is a Poet?







A raising tumult,
A burning rage,
The inner self so fierce ,
As a ranting devil,
Trapped in a cage;

 A tranquil self,
A reposed heart,
A mind at ease,
Like a huntsman aiming,
patiently his dart;

 Dewy eyes,
Piqued soul,
Used to the core,
Saturated with hurt,
Wounded and sore;

 A wandering mind,
Curious with visions,
Breaking all bounds,
Of fascination
And passion;

 A Poet is but,
Seasons personified,
Imaginations glorified,
Senses untethered,
Keeper of
Ever blooming blossoms,
And never ending despair;
A warrior,
With an ink filled sword,
Splattering the words,
Of joy and glum;

 Like you,
Like him,
Like her,
I am a Poet,
And a day would be,
My last,
Forgotten I would be,
But the ink in my words,
Would be,
Forever!

 (c) S.S 







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