A Poet’S Poem

Yes, I am the poem --

Read by all, owned by some, and loved by one.

The one who shaped me with his pen,

The one who filled the gap between his poem and poetry,

The one who put his beat to my soul,

He is the only one who gives all his emotions by his words.

His word soothes my blank soul.

To be honest, with his each word, I too feel the liveliness with his heart.

Yes, I am his poem.

For him, I am The Poem,

The only art with which he spends his time.

He thinks all the time about his Poem.

Is he the owner of his poem?

No, I am the owner of his thoughts.

No one can understand a Poet;

I am the only one who understands him.

Through me, all his pains are shared with the world.

All the love, blessings, wishes he receives

Come through my way.

I am the poem that connects him with the world.

I am the way by which he found his own way of living.

I am the art that fills his mind with the thoughts.

I am the color that fills his heart with blood.

I am his poem that admires its poet.

He is writing on my soul.

A soul which is never touched by anyone.

He suffered all through his life.

I too suffered, bearing the pain of every poet.

As he touched me with his pen,

I was spellbound.

Alas!

What a feeling between both of us!

A poet is writing his poem,

And a poem is ready to fall through his words.

Yes, He is my poet.

Who owns me by his journey

And I am the journey of my poet.