A Poet's aatmakatha

Writing poetry is so much fun !! Ever wonder what would be a Poet's dilemma ...So here goes his aatmakatha

These days , O India,in every nook and place !
The plague of writing poetry has created unchecked rage .

Eighty percent of the folks ,suffer from this disease ( kidding !!)
All you need is a pseudonym, to join the privileged race .

Poetry which in olden days ,was knowledge ultimate,
Is now condensed in the poetic name,shorn of former grace.

O ye rare product of this wonderous earth !
who will sing your praise, who will judge your worth ?

Uncontrolled is your growth, beyond the census grasp,
you are deemed an angel,dressed in human garb.

Immune you are to hunger, indifferent to thirst,
you have only one aim, to write and read your verse.

Extremely irritating are those poets indeed,
who with poetic pressure, is often ill at ease.

No physician in the world can cure his deep disease....

What all he writes over the year ,he would vomit all,
a sort of poetic diarrhoea infects his head and heart .

Everyone is making money , you are making rhymes,
There you keep awake at night , poetic lines repeat,

Applaud every verse ,and shout in merry glee ( am awake tonight to write this wonderful piece !!)

In every town and village , your presence is a must,
how much they care for you, how kindly they treat,

Whenever there is a gala meet or a bridal feast,
To while away the night, they hold a poetic meet,

All professions in the world command some respect,
Every art and craft has a minimal worth;

Every human need requires some expert,
Everyone dictates a price for his handiwork.

It flies away in smoke , in that instance of masterful rendition ;
"How fine he writes ! " is your sole reward   !!!!

sd/-
Roohul Haq