ODYSSEY OF A POOR POET

The first form that forms all
Was formed in fluid-fill hall
Of elastic flesh creamed with blood
To allow easy eject of the fleshy blood,

Sometimes in ninth month of early nineties,
The first form bursted like gushing broth teas,
Out of its fluid-filled blood creamed wall
Into the earthy things of evil lined hall,

Years go by like well rolled die;
Days on days like well shaped dye,
It began to crawl to learn more things;
About life's good and awkward things,

As times fade and seconds count,
As the noon changes to moon
And moon transforms to noon,
And years become days in count,

It grew up to the fall and rise of world,
From the exit of sun to its rise up gate,
It learnt from the wide and cracks of world;
Knowing the contrast of hell and heaven's gate,

Then as moon keeps its rotation practice,
And the sun stays gallant in its static,
It began to practice its ways;
How to jump the lumps of gothic days,

How to become who he wants to be,
How to form all he wants to be,
He learnt to lean not on any,
For the strong ones aren't many,

He carried himself like an anchor,
Though as heavy as strong liquor,
He knew he could fall against walls,
But believes he won't crumble like fragile walls,

He believes making mistakes is a step;
For making progress is step by step,
And a mistake made means mastery of luxury;
Knowledge; the giant beautiful luxury,

He believes in the act of falling
As a way the greats got their forms,
He believes in the art of failing
As the lounge that leads to better forms,

As tick turns tack as clock's hands click,
He turned an adult that learned heart's freak;
He knew how wants can be as infinite as stupidity,
And how they can fetch him trouble of endless durity,

He knew the power of togetherness,
And knew much about powerlessness,
He concurred with people he understands not;
As the rope concurs with tying knot,

Because life is too long to lung to long,
So he accepts the right from wrong,
For he; as gentle as coastal breeze,
Can coach to teach to sail the breeze,

He knows how to pretend foolish
Can kill the soul very outright,
He knows being wit needs to flourish
And this is bright than moon's light,

He watched his words and all they're forming,
For the danger of falling lurks in talking,
He watched his steps against all incoming,
For history is made with what steps are forming.
   

       (C) HYBRID

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