My dear poem,
stay put,
in the womb of my diary.
Coz, if I deliver you here,
people will judge you.
They shall judge you,
by the number of loves, likes and comments,
you fetch.
And I can't guarantee you all this praise.
Because for you to get these loves and likes,
I need to reciprocate for other’s poems.
I need to love poems,
that I don’t even like.
I have to comment graciously,
even when I am at loss of words.
I have to email appreciation,
even when I don’t mean it.
No wonder how beautiful you are,
I will have to do this “public relation” exercise for you,
and since I am just a poet,
and not adept at management,
I would fail terribly.
Today what is “visible”,
“seems” to sell.
Truth “may seem to lie rusting”
in some dark recesses.
But these sham conventions,
don't discourage me,
because history tells me,
that truth can be suppressed ,
bruised and traumatised for a while,
but it never dies.
Truth will have its day,
when it shall shine bright,
without the crutches of,
the whimsical, loves , likes and comments.