This Satire is a piece of glass
Wherein the 'holder sees the face
Of all society and does pass
Along until he comes to trace
own and curses both the poet and his pose
And says,' this is not poetry but scribbler's prose!

in hambly bow to all that's good
In society; and such I pray
I might not be misunderstood
For whipping those that go astray;
nowet me confess, I am blunt and plain
The which might cause in sensitive persons pain

As blunt and plain as naked truth,
goes mine undecorated MUSE,
from hand to hand both rough and smooth,
some praise and others might abuse
As suits their taste; and after all is my business,
to speak the truth and not the world to please

I do not write myself to please,
Nor I do crave for poet's fame
But some deep urge doth ever tease
My mind-an urge I cannot name
Hast as some doctors fail to name the patient's I'll,
In spite of that they know there is some disease still

As I but write of commen things,
I would not take uncommon flight
Upon the Muse's lighter wings
to hide me from the public sight
For I would like that every word and letter
Be understood by every person better!



© Umar