Poetry Is A Solitary Reaper

Have you ever witnessed the glory?

Hidden in wide arena of poesy,

Reaping art of writing in hilly highland

Growing buds flourishing from south to north, east to west

In every corner of world, poetry is harvesting,

With bunch of joys, laugh, smiles and fun;

Sometimes in lonely clouds, sometimes amongst daffodils

But never attained the mortal death in ages and ages!

Behold! when you chant for poems

Each word speaks tales of our lives,

Emotionally flowing on heart-shaped leaves,

Filled with dew drops; gracefully enlightening

Sometimes carry wisdom, sometimes pleasure

In every walk, you travel with me alike explorer

But never hold silent temper to shade raucous haunt.

Will somebody ask me what poetry made you?

Perhaps I have lot of answers, to sing for thee art

To what I owe my success and peace of my life?

Fortunately, poetry will take the honor and credit

Nevertheless, you battle with me for a long time

And we are not yet done,waiting for a humble day

For we both will have to celebrate together,

In commemoration of our long victory

the art of poetry in my soul which, I bore

Shall remain forever in my heart underneath the shore!