she inquires why I write so many poems,
easy comes reply:
It gives me a fantastic living,
it makes and gives, each poem,
a calculation, a reconciliation
of who I am...a miner of the
mineral wealth in my veins

I am not a poet.
I am only a wanderer in the marketplace of words,
a fool who follows the glimmer of syllables
as others follow the scent of bread.
Poetry is not ink on paper.
It is the pulse beneath the page
a breath moving through the hollow reed of the poet,
a secret that leans close to the ear of the heart.
When I meet a poem, I bow.
I circle it once,
then twice,
then again,
as though it were a shrine whose mystery
can never be entered in a single step.
Each reading strips away a veil.
Sometimes the veil is my own blindness,
sometimes the poet’s mercy in hiding the flame
until I am ready.
There are nights I leap from sleep crying, I have it!
and mornings when the truth laughs,
gently reminding me:
Child, that was only the shadow of the meaning
come back, and drink deeper.
Poetry is a journey without map or return.
It is the caravan of joy
that passes through my heart again and again.

That girl in my dream
She has no face - it seems.
No, it's not like that.
Wearing a beautiful dress,
Neither is she faceless,
Nor is she voiceless.
But as soon as I wake up
Her face escapes the walls of my brain,
And her voice flows out like a flowing river,
Every second getting dimmer.
Yet I remember
How beautiful she is,
And how her voice lingers in my heart
Like a true piece of art.
It's like something I know,
But at the same time - don't know.

In your poems
Every word is a drop of tear
Reflects your pain and burn
All the drops together
Form a stream of your tears
in the form of poem
  
Your every poem
Reaches my heart to tell your life

I touch each word of your poem
Reflects back my good wishes
to cool down heat of your pain

Your smile is as pure as an infant
Your smile is as refreshing as flowers with dew drops in the morning
Your smile reminds me a dancing peacock in a cloudy weather
Your smile is as colourful as rainbow after rainfall
Your smile on  face with respect in eyes makes me forget all my worries for few seconds
It takes me in the divine world of lovely thoughts
God bless you all your good wishes
To make you keep smiling always.

So they are still fighting — the humans.
Still drawing borders, building walls, claiming lands as if the sky were theirs to divide.
They are not united. Not yet.
And until they are, we will not go to them.

(In a classroom on a distant alien world)

Student:
Ma’am, why haven’t we contacted Earth yet?
We have the technology. We could speak to them — today, even now. So why don’t we?

Teacher:
That’s a good question. One we ask often.
But before I answer, I want you to think. Really think.
Let’s look at their history — the humans.

Long ago, they hunted.
They killed to survive, to eat, to rule.
They were more violent then — wild and afraid.
But over time, they settled. Built homes. Grew crops.
And slowly... they harmed less. Just a little less.

Civilizations rose. Then empires.
And with them, came war — endless wars over territory, over pride.
Then came their modern age. What did that bring?
Serfdom. Slavery. Racism. Greed.
Some of those poisons still linger in their world even now.

Yes, they advanced — in tools, in science, in machines.
But tell me:
Did their souls keep pace with their inventions?

As they built satellites, they still built prisons.
As they mapped the stars, they still judged by skin.
So, in our terms, they are not yet developed.
Because true development is not measured in machines —
but in mercy.

Once the people of Earth learn to accept one another,
once they choose peace not as a treaty but as a truth,
then they will be ready.
Then we will speak to them.

Until then…
they are too busy surviving their own chaos.
We are beyond that now.
We gave up the things that destroy.
Hatred. War. Ego.

And the irony?
They think we would attack them.

(Far away, among alien officials)

High-ranking official:
Earth has been declared a no-contact zone.
No ships may enter. No probes. No whispers.
The planet is to be left untouched.
Observed, but never interfered with.

They are… an ecosystem.
Nothing more.
Just like the forests they fail to protect —
they, too, must be left to grow or wither on their own.

Let’s see how long it takes.
Let’s see when they finally look up, not in fear…
but in peace.

(Back on Earth…)

A television broadcast crackles:

“The Amazon Rainforest — home to countless species —
has been declared a protected zone.
All activities harming its balance are now banned.
No hunting. No poaching.
Left alone by humans, the forest may finally breathe.
The ecosystem may heal.”

If only they knew —
they, too, are a forest still learning to grow.