A poem written with rusty words,
Its rhymes like melting rainbows,

A poem that paints a thousand images,
A poem that is hope—

Like the glistening beams of sunlight to me,
A poem that smells of those old golden pages.

A poem that lies
On a page like a dead body on soft brown earth.

Reading a poem that smells like a hundred moons,
Creating a constellation of stars behind me.

But, I am a selfish poet,
I write only when I feel profoundly sad,

Yes, I am a selfish poet,
I write only when I have no one left to share my feelings and sorrow.

Yes, I am a selfish poet,
I see poetry solely as a remedy for my soul,

Yes, I am a selfish poet,
I write only occasionally,

Yes, I am a selfish poet,
As when I start feeling better, I abandon poetry every time.


© vibhuti