Poetry, I give you leave tonight,
Tonight the rooms are all dark,
And the moon seems to be a ball of rice,
Poetry, I thus realize,

  That kids are born but all alone, to fight and to survive,
That brothers of mine would carry guns, and swords to imbibe the taste of hate,
My ministry of freedom, would ask me,
To celebrate the religion of chains and barriers,
And the newsroom would speak of a thousand dollars in a bank.

There's no doctor who would carry the reservoir of proper medicines,
There's not a police who would not love to beat up citizens and addicts,
There's no art in government and while doing duties,
This is evolution, evil and we write poetry at ease?

Poetry, I thus take leave from you, as sooner, as possible, my friend,
When the morning sky would turn blue, again.

There would be no one anymore,
To shout and speak naked truths,
There was no one never, to celebrate love,
There is no one to understand these galloping thoughts.
My poetry, you are and you were never mine...

Poetry, you are but an elitist propaganda,
A young blessing, but rather a burden,
Which turns out to be a curse.

Poetry, take leave thus,
And, I would burn the sentiments of such an insensitive farce.

Poetry, take leave,
Please, In brief.