Loneliness of poets
Has become an inept adage.
Poetry doesn’t give one anything.
Why do we go sleeping peacefully
Putting a poor grain of poetry
In the blues and pools and flowers
Without giving it enough water and care?
What an injustice!
Is it their business:
Say, holding the grain of poetry for us?
It is pitiful (pity, sorry, painful)
that the nature gets penalized
for our dirty delusions (dreams)
and abusing creed of words.