A POET IS THE MELODY OF A BROKEN LYRE
When the broken lyre can’t hold music,
Poet is there being the muse of a melody.
When winter makes all drowsy and numb,
Poet is there holding the spring flowers.
Poet becomes a nightingale voice,
When a beloved is in her room so lonely.
And when the earth tolerates much pain of
Thirsts, a poet approaches flying there
If in the nick of time He is heard of it.
If the night is deep without the moon above,
A poet puts on a jacket of light hovering
Around the jungle and everywhere.
When a famer cuts the golden paddy,
With a scythe, he carols with flying colours:
A poet lends that song also to the man.
Oh, the life is a prose without a poet and
Without a poet, meaningless is the life!
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Want to try your hand at poetry? Email me at poeticiapoems@gmail.com
Featured image credits to hobim on Pixabay
