Is it true-
poets, more than others
weep?
beauty they worship
and if it is blemished or defiled
by man's callousness and indifference-
they lose heart
and even in their sleep
they are inconsolable
there is healing
in tears
despite the anguish
over time and past years.
Is it true
poets, more than others
love?
their yearnings
know no rest
and their passions
fearlessly sweep
over the wildest mountains
and the most tempestuous seas
even the bitterest Arctic
they burn like fire
and melt
every lingering piece of snow
they write across the sky
their poignant and painful poems
' Love is life's most sublime gift
and stronger than death'.
Are poets, more than others
lonely?
dwelling in the universe
of words and feelings
they are strangers to the world
even to themselves
as they struggle to find themselves
and unravel life's multifold mysteries.
Are poets, more than others
melancholic?
they dream of a world
beyond time
wrapped in eternally sweet dreams
only to end
in disillusionment and despair
(reality is too harsh and too cruel-
purveyor of the baneful, mundane
the uninspiring, the inane)
Should poets
be scoffed at
because
they long
for the beautiful and sublime
and draw
everyone's attention
to the ugliness
of the world?