What Is A Poet?


A poet is a dancer―
The paper is his stage.
Wrapping his fingers around his pen,
He performs a passionate tango,
A seductive rhumba,
A playful boogie,
And a long, long waltz
With life.

A poet is musician―
The pen is his instrument.
Every word is a note,
Every verse is a song.
His poems are his voice
That can break the glass windows
Of every prison
Where music can’t be heard,
To coax all the menacled
To sing along with him.

A poet is an artist―
The paper is his canvas.
With nature as palette,
And emotion his brush,
He garbs beauty with colors garish and harsh
But cloaks the grotesque in richer hues
To paint a picture of a world
That all has dwelt
But never felt.

A poet is a student―
The paper is his notebook.
Life gives the lecture,
And he has to listen,
Note,
Recite,
Participate.
But sometimes he slacks
And fails
But he learns
And becomes the teacher in turn.

A poet is a scientist―
Words are his specimens.
He dissects them to pieces
To see,
Then unveil
The magic of their secret microworlds,
Then try to arrange the broken pieces
To make something new,
To make life bearable.

A poet is a child―
Words are his toys.
He plays and wonders
Then asks
Who?
What?
Where?
When?
Why?
How?
Then go back to his toys
That are never the same
As every answer
Prompts new questions.

A poet is every man―
Poems are his life.
Poems tell his story
That could be yours
Or mine
For every poet
Can be you
Or me.

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All-Nighter


It’s four in the morning
You’re still awake.
Class starts at seven,
You’d better not sleep.

You’ve quit studying,
You brain says no.
What is left to do?
You get a mug of coffee.

Coffee is bitter
But so is life.
Just add a little sugar
Then, it’s bittersweet.

You sit by the windowsill
And watch the dawn
Make a canvass
Of the early morning sky.

You sip your coffee.
It is bitter.
It is sweet.
Just like life.