I am the poet
The sinner,
The ardent lover
Whose words remain unheard
Yelped quietly
Died unnoticed
Never reborn
I am the poet
The mad,
The raving
Who jotted down the feelings,
Desires and the notions
Not for the known or unknown
But for the bruised self
I am the poet
The joyful
The aching,
With sorrowful eyes
Who never slept peacefully
And awake in the infinite hours
Waiting for the anonymous
I am the poet
The silent,
The desperate
Embracing elapsed moments
Whose silent weep are the loudest cry
And memories, the precious belonging
Love, the triumph ever
I am the poet
The forsaken,
The lonely soul
Aloof to the belated apologies
Betrayed by the callous
Ignored by the loved ones
And waiting for the lost harmonies
I am the poet
The loser,
The champion
The toy of the destiny
The unwanted, the forgotten soul,
Wandering, in search of the secrets
Quest for the lost paragons
I am the poet
The real,
The genuine
Neither judged
Nor disregarded any
Wish to be loved passionately
And be unique in my own way
I am the poet
The creator
The dreamer,
With novel impressions
Pall-bearer of rare emotions
Waiting for the miracle
To bring back the lost ecstasies
I am the poet
The curious,
The zealous
With strange yens
To explore the uncertainties,
The certainties in the world
And the truth beyond my existence